GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS 
IN NEW MEXICO 



/;/ otitskirts of thy kingdom vast, 
Father, the hu}nblest spot gh'e me; 

Set me the lowliest task thou hast j 
Let me repentant work for thee ! 

H. H. 



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CLIMBIN(; ALONU THK FACE UK THK CLIFF. 



Great-Grandmother's Girls 



In New Mexico 



1 670- 1 680 



BY 

/' 
/ 

ELIZABETH W. CHAMPNEY 

AUTHOR OF "three VASSAR GIRLS " SERIES, ETC. 



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FULLY ILLUSTRATED 



<^® 




BOSTON 
ESTES AND LAURIAT 



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Copyright, 1888, 
By Estes and Lauriat. 



JUnibersftj 33t£ss: 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



PREFACE. 



One of the most interesting accounts of the early visits of 
the Spaniards to the Pueblos of New Mexico is found in a 
musty, coffee-colored old volume of the Hakluyt collection of 
the journals of early adventurers, and is called : — 

"A briefe relation of two notable voyages, the first mu,de by 
Frier Augustin Ruyz, a Franciscan, in the yeere 1581 ; the second 
by Antonio de Espejo, in the yeere 1583, who, together with his 
company, discouered a land wherein they found fifteen provinces, 
all full of towns conteiniug houses of four and five stories high, 
which they named New Mexico, for that in many respects it re- 
sembleth the province of Okie Mexico ... by the which it is 
thought that men may travell even to Terra de Labrador. Taken 
out of the History of China, written by Frier Juan Gonzales de 
Mendo9a ; printed in Madrid in 1586." 

The author of the following story began her explorations 
where the Spaniards ended, — at the southern boundary of 
Colorado. The worthy friars' chronicle served her as a trusty 
guide-book, and it is certainly remarkable that a journal of 
travel written three hundred years ago can be so completely 
verified at the present day. As our party journeyed from 
pueblo to pueblo, we became more and more interested in 
this strange, weird people and their remarkable history, their 
civilization old when the " Mayflower " landed, their archi- 
tecture and dress recallino: a visit to the land of the Moors. 



viii PREFACE. 

The hot sunshine and the desert colorhig were African iu 
effect, while the grave, dark people in their white cotton 
garments, with a dash of red, hound turban-wise about their 
brows, recalled the Moors of Tangiers. It was all a bit of 
Morocco transplanted to our own country, woven blankets 
repeating the Oriental pattern of prayer-rugs, and water-jugs 
of Saracenic shape and decoration carried by the women with 
the same stately poise of the caryatids. So we were struck 
by their picturesqueness ; but as we came to know the patient 
people better, their gentleness, their liospitality, and their 
wrongs, we warmed to a deeper feeling of sympathy and 
championship. 

As we stood on the priest's balcony at Acoma we thought 
how little change had taken place since the visit of Espejo. 
His journal might have been copied as our own : — 

" We found a greate toune called Acoma, containing about five 
thousand persons, and situate upon an hie rocke, about fifty paces 
hie, having no other entrance but by a paire of staires hewen in 
this same rocke, whereat our people marvelled not a little. The 
chief men of this toune came peaceably to visit the Spaniards, 
bringing them many mantles and chamois skins excellently 
dressed, and great plenty of victuals. Their corne fields are two 
leagues from thence, and they fetch water out of a small river to 
water the same, on the brinks whereof they saw many great 
banks of Eoses like those of Castile. Here are many mountains 
that bear shewes of mettals. Our men remained in this place 
three days, upon one of the which the inhabitants made before 
them a very solemn dance, coming forth in the same with gallant 
apparell, using very witty sports, wherewith our men were ex- 
ceedingly delighted." 

We experienced the same hospitality extended to Espejo 
during our stay at Acoma. We were the guests of the Indian 



PREFACE. ix 

governor, and our meals were served by his sons and daughters, 
for which no compensation would be accepted. 

Since that visit, three years have been spent in earnest 
study of every record, book, or manuscript upon which the 
author could lay her hands, and an extensive correspondence 
carried on with authorities on early American, Mexican, and 
Spanish history. It would be useless to mention all sources 
of information ; but an expression of thanks is due to the 
following gentlemen, who have materially aided this work : 
to Captain R. H. Pratt, of the Carlisle Indian School (un- 
der whose guidance our little party made the tour of the 
pueblos) ; to General Bradley, Commander of the Depart- 
ment of New Mexico, for much courtesy and for ambulance 
transportation ; to Major Powell, of the United States Bureau 
of Ethnology, for information given personall}'^, and for 
books ; to Professor and Mrs. Stevenson, of the same Bureau ; 
to Major George Pradt, of Laguna, for guidance during our 
trip to Acoma ; to Dr. Menaul, missionary at Laguna ; to 
Dr. H. 0. Ladd, of the Ramona Indian School at Santa ¥6 ; 
to Mr. W. H. Davis, author, of the " History of the Con- 
quest of New Mexico ; " to Mr. Justin Winsor, Librarian 
of Harvard University, for lists of authorities, and for ad- 
vance proofs of his own " History of America ; " to Dr. John 
Gilmary Shea, author of " History of the Catholic Church in 
the United States," for references to rare or obscure chron- 
icles, relations, and records of the Franciscan Missions ; to 
Hon. John Bigelow, for manuscript records of the Incpiisition 
in Mexico ; and to the works of Messrs. Hubert Bancroft, 
Brantz Mayer, Frank Gushing, Thomas A. Janvier, F. A. 
Ober, and Fray Augustin de Yetancurt. 

Most especially is the writer indebted to Mrs. Tliomas 



X PREFACE. 

Janvier for researches in and translations of Spanish his- 
tories, particularly in regard to Geronima Maria Montezuma, 
a Spanish Pocahontas who deserves to be better known. Her 
pedigree, from the Montezuma of the Conquest, is thus traced 
by Mrs. Janvier : — 

Montezuma Dona Maria, Princess of Tula. 



I 
Don Pedro Johnalicahuaoatzin-Montezuma, hid in Tula during conquest. 

afterward ennobled by Charles V. 

Don Diego Luis-Moutezuma (went to Spain with the grandson of Cor- 
tez), married Dona Francisca de la Cueva. 

Don Pedro Tesifon Montezuma de la Cueva. 

Don Diego Luis Tesifon Montezuma de la Cueva (brought up as the 
Queen's page) ; married Dona Luisa Maria Jofre Loaisa y Carillo, daugh- 
ter of the Condi del Arco. 

Their daughter, Dona Geronima IMaria Montezuma, married Don Jose 
Sarmiento de Valladares, Cavalier of the Order of Santiago. 

Don Josd de Valladares is known in history as the Count 
de Montezuma, thirty-second Viceroy of Mexico (1696-1701). 
Geronima went to Mexico with him sixteen years after the 
Pueblo rising. Shortly after the pageants which welcomed 
her arrival,' her life was saddened by the death of her daughter 
from small-pox. During the reign of her husband, Philip V., 
the grandson of Louis XIV., became king of Spain. " Not- 
withstanding the conflicts to which this transfer of the crown 
(to the House of Bourbon) gave rise in Europe, the fidelity 
of Mexico remained unshaken. It is affirmed (though on no 
very high authority) that Philip V. even contemplated taking 
refuge among his loyal subjects in Mexico." One of the most 
important acts of the Conde de Montezuma was granting per- 



PREFACE. XI 

mission to Father Salvatierra (we can fancy in memory of his 
early friendship with Fray Ignacio) to renew the interrupted 
work of converting the Indians. Salvatierra was the great 
founder of the Missions of California. His story has been 
told with love and enthusiasm by Helen Hunt. It is a story 
which, in these prosaic days, has the effect of some sweet but 
unreal romance. How can we believe that men ever gave 
their lives for the elevation of the Indian, when the practice 
of our modern religion is to ignore them, and of our civiliza- 
tion to provoke to outrage, that we may have excuse to 
exterminate them? 



CONTENTS. 



Chaptee Paqe 

I. The Turquoise Cup 11 

II. MONITA 23 

III. Our Lady op Guadalupe 41 

IV. The Secret Treasure-Chamber 56 

V. Our Lady del Pilar 72 

VI. Captain Zuniga's Secret 95 

VII. The Silver Mines 117 

VIIL In Seville 140 

IX. The Eed Cross of Santiago 1G7 

X. The Knotted Cord 185 

XL At the Shrine op del Pilar 208 

XII. The Scallop-Shell 227 

XIII. Faith in Works 262 

XIV. The Whirlwind 284 

XV. The Mesa Encantada 325 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Page 

Climbing along the Pace of the Cliff Frontispiece 

A Band of Emigrants, with Cattle and Cabts .... 15 

17 
Aztec Pottery 

Spanish Mexican Adventurers ^^ 

A Franciscan Mission 21 

Monita's Mock Procession 25 

One of these Poor Indians 28 

Pleasant, Shady Corridors in which to walk 31 

A Miracle-Play in Mexico ^^ 

The Turquoise Cup 

Her Hands were folded in Prayer 

47 
Montezuma 

53 
Mission Indians 

57 
The Treasure-Chamber 

rn 59 

The Pueblo of Tags 

fi2 
One of the Pack-Animals 

"Man's Willing Slave" ^^ 

Sculpture from the Southern Palaces '^' 

On the Summit, — Ruins '^ 

73 
Ruins of a Toltec Palace 



XVl LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page 

At Dawn they approached the Pueblo 77 

The Little Patient 81 

In Spain the Holy Virgin of Zaragoza was besought by 

ALL Cripples S5 

The Archbishop and Viceroy of Mexico 89 

The Sorcerer 97 

Some Girls op Tula 101 

HUITZILOPOCHTL, GOD OF WaR 107 

They saw at a Distance some of the Apaches Hunting . 109 

A Pueblo Plaza 113 

The Annual Harvest-Dance 119 

Obtaining Pulque prom the Maguey Plant 123 

Indians op other and Wilder Tribes 127 

The Dreary Plain beset with Aloes 130 

Mines worked long ago by some Unknown Race .... 133 

A Mexican Expedition in search of Mines 137 

One of the Canals 141 

Convent of La Merced 143 

The Beautiful Shaft of the Giralda 147 

Beautiful Ladies and Gay Gallants in Satin and Velvet 149 
The most Magnificent Private Eesidence Monita had ever 

seen 153 

In Murillo's Studio 157 

Monita in the Garden IGl 

The Dance of the Dwarfs 1G9 

The Great Cardinal Ximenes 173 

There were Bull-Fights 177 

The Escurial 181 

The Corral in the Silver Works 187 

A Patio Court of the Museum 191 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. XVll 

Paqb 

Church of San Domingo 196 

Selling Tortillas • 199 

In the Mines 201 

They found Villages of Prairie-Dogs 205 

An Ideal Tezcocan Garden = . . . 209 

Cousin Faquita in the Courtyard 213 

Gebonima seated in the Canopied Niche 219 

In the Cathedral 223 

How he used to Fight the Moors 228 

The Great Thoroughfares which led to the City . . . 231 

A Burden of Great Water-Jars 235 

Mariano and his Sweetmeats . 238 

He wore a Voluminous and Eagged Cloak 241 

Antonia would enter with her Guitar as a Ballad-Singer 245 

A Lady looked down from a Window 249 

(Jypsy Cave-Dwellings 253 

The Diligence from Zaragoza dashed by 259 

At her second Step she Tottered and Fell 263 

The Crowd op Beggars at the Door 266 

A Gypsy Beauty 269 

The King sent one of his Royal Carriages 273 

Entrance to the Hall of the Ambassadors 275 

The Wine-Gate 278 

The long Hill from the Town to the Alhambra . . . 279 

Pepindorio streched on the Coping of the Quay . . . 282 

A Dominican Monk 285 

Stolid, but kindly 287 

A Chubby Child 288 

The Terrace-Shaped Houses 289 

Mission of San Luis 293 



XVUl LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Pagk 

There sat her Mother 298 

She did not pause for Rest, but hurried toward Acoma . 305 

War! 309 

The Spanlards in Mexico 315 



APPENDIX 325 



Great-Grandmother's Girls 

In New Mexico, 



CHAPTER I. 

THE TURQUOISE CUP. 

I touch the farther Past, 
I see the dying glow of Spanish glory, — 
The sunset dream and last 1 

Before me rise the dome-shaped Mission towers, 

The white i)residio ; 
The swart commander in his leathern jerkin, 

The priest in stole of snow. 

Bret Harte. 

" Santiago ! " exclaimed Captain Zuniga, " San- 
tiago preserve us ! what an adorable cup ! It is 
worthy the shrine of Our Lady of Toledo, or even of 
the table of the Emperor himself ! " 

The Captain in his enthusiasm had unconsciously 
spoken in a loud whisper, and the good Fray Ignacio, 
as he stood before the altar, holding the chalice in his 
hands, cast upon him a glance of mild reproach. 

But Captain Zuniga was unabashed ; he rarely came 
to the little chapel, and he had not expected to see 



12 GREAT-GRAN DMOTHEK'S GIRLS. 

such a beautiful and valuable object. The cup was a 
large one, of solid silver, and so artistically shaped that 
he could hardly believe it the work of the Pueblo 
Indians ; but what rendered it especially resplendent 
was its ornamentation in large turquoises. A beading 
of these ran round the rim of the cup, and others of 
the size of hazel-nuts were set in an arabesque pat- 
tern about the middle portion. Captain Zuniga's eyes 
grew green with envy as he looked. It was not this 
cup alone, with its turquoises of a pale green-blue like 
sea-water reflecting a cloudless sky. He could easily 
have compelled Fray Ignacio to give it up, and he told 
himself that he was too good a Catholic to begrudge 
the Church even this ravishing object ; but where those 
turquoises came from, there were presumably more, 
and the silver from which the cup was made was no 
doubt dug from those secret mines of which the Span- 
iards had heard enticing but vague rumors, and for 
which they had left their native land and braved all 
the dangers and privations of exploration and settle- 
ment in the wilds of America. 

They had been told, on their first coming, of inex- 
haustible mines, yielding immense blocks of virgin sil- 
ver; but the Indians had grown less confiding, and 
spoke more seldom of them. When questioned, they 
sometimes protested their ignorance of their where- 
abouts, sometimes insisted that they were very far 
away among another people, and at other times as- 
sured the Spaniards that the entire story was a hoax, 
and that no such mines existed. Captain Zuiiiga was 
beg-inning; to fear that this was the truth. He had 
followed so closely every clew, had had every Indian 



Z^-- 



THE TURQUOISE CUP. 13 

who wore silver ornaments tortured into confession of 
where he obtained them, and all having insisted that 
the trinkets were purchased of old Koba, the silver- 
smith of the town, he had had this man scourged, in 
hope of some revelation. But Koba had solemnly as- 
serted that he had made all these ornaments, for the 
most part such trifles as beads and buttons, from Span- 
ish silver dollars, and that he knew of no native mines. 
The Captain liad not believed this assertion at first, 
and had set a strict watch on Koba's movements, only 
to ascertain that the man never left his home, but 
squatted from morning till night beside his rude forge, 
industriously making and engraving the small orna- 
ments, apparently, as he had said, from coins received 
from the Spanish soldiers. But that cup could have 
been fashioned from no Spanish dollars ; there had not 
enough been spent by all his soldiers to make up its 
weight ; and those turquoises, large and clear of color 
as any that ever came from Persia, were native gems. 
Where were they obtained ? He had already unavail- 
ingly tried what force could do. Fray Ignacio, who 
had in some astonishing way received this cup, must 
find for him the information which he needed. He 
saw himself a rich man, returning to Spain with a 
galleon loaded with silver and turquoises, and he could 
scarcely repress his impatience until the close of the 
little service. A sort of dumb raa-e, a sense of havins: 
been swindled, glowed in Captain Zuniga's breast ; for 
he had not left Spain to live among these savages 
moved by any feeling of interest in their souls such as 
had actuated the Franciscan Friars, who came out with 
Espejo in 1540 and described these towns of the 



14 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

Building, or Pueblo, Indians in the Rio Grande valley, 
nor was it a thirst for fame which had brought him 
here, such as led on the earlier discoverer, Coronado, 
governor of Galicia, in Mexico, who left his bride, to 
explore the New Mexico of which the shipwrecked 
wanderer, Alvar Nunez Cabeca de Vaca, had brought 
him word. 

Old Mexico had furnished great spoil of treasure to 
the Spanish Church and Crown ; and when rumors came 
of a New Mexico to be plundered, many unscrupulous 
adventurers joined themselves to the first colony, for 
which Don Juan de Onate obtained, in 1602, a grant 
from Philip III. of Spain. Governor Onate, ennobled 
by the King, and with great grants of land which 
Philip did not possess, and the "right" to enslave the 
Indians, which as certainly did not belong to him, 
marched into the country with two hundred soldiers, a 
band of emigrants with cattle and carts, and six priests 
well provided with "church accoutrements," to claim 
the new land for Spain. At first the pueblo of San 
Juan was made the capital of the new State ; but in a 
short time the seat of government was removed to a 
fortified town called Santa Fe, or the city of the Holy 
Faith, from a city of the same name which had been 
built only a few years before on Moorish ground in 
Spain, and in sight of Granada before that city was 
wrested from the Infidel. 

From Santa Fe the conquerors spread, possessing 
themselves of many of the twenty pueblos or towns of 
the Indians scattered up and down the Rio Grande 
valley. They found the Indians possessing a high 
degree of civilization, not roaming about and living in 



THE TURQUOISE CUP. 



ir 



tents like the wild tribes of the plains ; and they called 
them, from their houses and towns, Pueblo Indians. 
These houses were built of sun-dried brick, an entire 
village at one time, in the shape of a flight of steps, 
each family occupying a "flat," and each "flat" open- 
ing on the roof of the one below and reached by means 
of a ladder. The rooms were heated by fire-places, 
and had windows glazed with syenite. The people 
practised most of the arts in their rudimentary stages. 
They baked bread in ovens, they wove blankets, made 




AZTEC POTTERY. 



pottery of various kinds similar to that of the Aztecs, 
worked in metals, and cultivated, in their farms around 
the pueblos, great fields of Indian corn and other vege- 
tables. They were docile and kindly, glad to be taught, 
patient and obedient, when the first conquerors found 
them ; and in 1608, twelve years before the Pilgrims 
landed on Plymouth Rock, there was a flourishing 
Spanish colony in New Mexico, and upward of eight 
thousand Indians had been baptized as converts to the 
Christian faith. In 1660 the Duke of Albuquerque, 
who was at that time viceroy of Mexico, founded a 
colony of one hundred families in New Mexico, who 
named their city for him ; and the cities of Santa Fe 



18 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

and Albuquerque still retain many interesting build- 
ings, relics of the old Spanish occupation. 

It was shortly after the settling of Albuquerque that 
Captain Zuniga, attracted to America by a letter of 
his kinsman, this same Francisco de la Cueva, Duke of 
Albuquerque, was placed in charge of the presidio and 
colonists at San Juan. For the next three years, until 
the time when our story opens, both he and Fray Igna- 
cio occupied themselves industriously in creating public 
opinion. Naturally the feeling against the Captain 
was as bitter as that toward the good padre was favor- 
able ; for while Fra}^ Ignacio had conciliated and won 
the children, the Captain had persecuted and exasper- 
ated their parents until now there was but one opinion, 
— the Spaniards, instead of being gods, as the Indians 
had first thouglit them, were certainly devils. 

Little cared Captain Zufiiga for tlie opinion of the 
Indians ; their enslavement was now so thoroughly 
effected that no resistance on their part seemed pos- 
sible. They labored in gangs, driven to their tasks by 
the soldiers. They had built all the houses needed for 
the presidio, or fort, and for the Mission ; and now one 
company filed away to the forest each morning to 
brine;: on their backs the wood which another set were 
cutting ; a few hunted game, — the Captain generously 
allowing them one tenth of their spoil ; another divi- 
sion labored in the fields, — the Spaniards dividing the 
crops in the same ratio ; while the remainder pursued 
their various industries in the town under the super- 
vision and for the benefit of the Spaniards. 

Captain Zuniga might have been content with the 
life which he now led, which was something like that 



THE TURQUOISE CUP. 



21 



of a feudal baron, and promised after a short time to 
make him enormously wealthy. But he was an ambi- 
tious man : he aspired to supplanting the Governor 
and becoming the lord of all this new country ; and 
he knew that the man who should first discover and 
present to the King the fabled silver-mines, might hope 
to buy even this dignity. He had still another reason, 




A FRANCISCAN MISSION. 



— a romantic one, which sharpened his eager desire for 
money and power, and which shall be fully explained 
farther on ; for now the Mass is over, and the Captain 
has no time to dream of his ambition and his love 
affairs, for a diminutive church servitor in red cotton 
and dirty lace is holding before him a reliquary con- 
taining some repulsive bones. The Captain kissed the 
relics hastily, and at the same time gave the child a 
keen glance. '' Santiago ! " he exclaimed again under 
his breath, " but it is Monita ! See here, you gypsy," 



22 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

he added, addressing the child, " I shall tell Fray 
Ignacio to be careful how he employs such riff-raff as 
his choristers if he has such valuable plate among his 
church treasures." 

" The holy father can well trust me," replied the 
child, standing proudly erect. " It was I who gave 
him the cup with the beautiful blue stones." 

•' You I " exclaimed the Captain; ^' you gave the 
padre the turquoise cup ? Tell me instantly where you 
obtained it." 

But with a mocking laugh the elfish child eluded his 
grasp and was gone. Captain Zuiliga uttered an oath ; 
but he was not very angry. It was only a matter of 
time now, he said to himself ; a little torture would 
make Monita reveal all. and he should quite enjoy 
torturing Monita. 

In the first place, however, he would question Fray 
Ignacio. Monita was a girl ; and it was certainly very 
odd, and quite contrary to church etiquette, that she- 
should have been made a chorister. 



CHAPTER II. 

MONITA. 

With antics and witli fooleries, with shouting and vvitli laughter, 
They fill the streets of Burgos. 

Lockjiart: Spanish Ballads. 

It was a year before the incident of the turquoise 
cup that Fray Ignacio had become acquainted with 
Monita ; their introduction took place in this way. 

As he issued from his chapel one morning he saw 
the valiant Captain endeavoring to clear the plaza, or 
square., of a troop of children, and especially directing 
his attack against a nimble little girl who skipped 
about him in the most exasperating manner. " She is 
a little monkey ! " said Captain Zuiiiga, making a slash 
at the child with the flat of his sword, and nearly losing 
his balance as she dodged the blow. 

" Santiago ! what a little monkey she is," laughed 
Fray Ignacio, holding his sides as the child resumed 
her antics at a safe distance. " She has been drilling: 
that rabble of boys all the morning in imitation of 
your lordship. They keep step, march, countermarch, 
wheel, and form a hollow square in a manner to fill 
one with admiration. She has fastened a great leaf 
upon her head for a helmet, and with a stick for a 
rapier, and those fierce mustachios painted upon her 



24 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

cheeks, she is as fine a portrait of yourself, most valiant 
Captain, as one might wish to see." 

'' It is doubtless very amusing to you, my reverend 
father, as long as she confines her caricatures and those 
of her tribe of playmates to the evolutions of the sol- 
diery ; but would you have found her antics so amusing 
had you seen her imitate this morning the religious 
procession wliich you instituted at the consecration of 
the chapel ? " 

" Madre de Dios I Did she do so sacrilegious a 
thing ? " asked the priest. 

" That she did ; and the shirt of that tall boy yonder 
was hoisted on a pole to represent the sacred banner of 
our Lady of Guadalupe, while the youngest urchin 
swung a pot of burning leaves for a censer, and another 
sprinkled the heads of all the bystanders plentifully 
with mock holy water. But what was most admirable 
was the manner in which she mimicked you personally, 
reverend father, chanting some rubbish of her own, 
and rolling it out so sonorously that one would have 
sworn that it was your very voice, and even the very 
words of the Magnificat." 

The good Fray Ignacio flushed slightly. '' I wonder, 
Sehor Captain, that you did not put a stop to her pleas- 
antry, if not for my sake, at least for that of our holy 
religion." 

^' Indeed, I was about to do so. but my sister antici- 
pated me. She charged upon the procession, trailed 
their banner in the dust, soundly cuffed the sprinkler, 
and essayed to drag the chanter of Masses to the serv- 
ing-room ; but the boys caught up stones and rescued 
their leader from the arm of the law." 




monita's mock procession. 



MOMTA. 27 

"Those boys will do anything she bids them," said 
the Captain's sister, Dona Catalina, now coining for- 
ward. " It were well if your soldiers were as soundly 
disciplined. They worship and obey her, and she is the 
greatest tomboy of the lot. She can out-run, out-climb 
them all. Ah ! but, gentlemen, have you ever seen her 
climb ? Surely the Prince of the Power of the Air 
must sustain her, for she will scramble up the side of a 
cliff where there is not even foothold for a goat ! She 
is a true monkey. It is thus that I have seen the apes 
of Barbary climb the face of the Rock of Gibraltar." 

Monita, •' little monkey : " it was so they nicknamed 
her for her grimacing, her pranks and mischief, lier 
talent for imitation, which rendered all her butt'o(mery 
irresistible, and above all for her remarkable feats at 
climbing. She had as many godfathers as there were 
foreigners in the Mission ; for the name had been be- 
stowed upon her by nearly every Spaniard in the pre- 
sidio, and it clung to her long after the one given 
at her compulsory baptism was forgotten. Monita, 
Monita, — she heard the name echoed from all sides, 
and soon learned to recognize it as her own. 

In spite of the fact that she had ridiculed him, Fray 
Ignacio loved the little pagan. He had come to the • 
wilds of New" Mexico impelled purely by a zeal for sav- 
ing souls, and each one of these poor Indians was 
precious in his sight. So fai- it must be acknowledged 
he had had but poor success. It was now two years 
since his arrival at the presidio and Mission of San 
Juan. A pueblo of the Indians had existed there from 
time immemorial, and the Spanish governor had sent 
him, with a company of soldiers to support him, to Chris- 



28 



GREAT-GKANDMOTHEirS (URLS. 



tianize the savages. Captain Zufiiga had ably seconded 
liis efforts. They had planted the cross in the centre 
of the plaza, and by an interpreter had explained to the 




ONE OF THESE POOR INDIANS. 



Indians the Governor's message, that they were to sub- 
mit themselves to the Spaniards and accept the new 
religion. Then, as has been explained, the soldiers had 
divided the Indians into gangs of laborers, compelling 
them to build the chapel and other houses necessary 
for the presidio ; which done, they were all driven into 



MONITA. 29 

the church at the point of the pike and were Chris- 
tianly baptized, seven hundred souls, and their names 
recorded on the book of the church, — a good week's 
work for Fray Ignacio, and the only missionary work 
which he had yet done. After this. Captain Zuniga 
had apportioned to each Indian a task, and his own 
time and that of his soldiers was devoted to oversee- 
ing; the labor and the collection of the revenue ; so 
with the exception of herding the Indians on each 
Sunday to hear Mass and a sermon which they did 
not understand, the secular arm no longer aided the 
Churcli. 

Fray Ignacio did what he could. He consecrated 
the little campo santo in which the dead were buried, 
and said prayers for their souls. He rang the bell for 
angelus and vespers, to which only at rare intervals 
any but a few of the wives of the soldiers came. He 
heard these good women confess, who had least need of 
any of his flock for such an exercise, while the real 
sinners kept away from the confessional. He labored 
in his little cloister garden and he applied hiinself to 
studying the language, in the hope of doing better ser- 
vice when it should be fully acquired ; and in the mean 
time he visited the sick, for he was skilled as a phy- 
sician, having studied magic in Toledo before devoting 
himself to divinity. 

So the first two years of his mission had worn away, 
and he was obliged to confess, as he made out his 
quarterly report to send to the Bishop at Santa Fe, and 
through him to the head of the Franciscan Order in 
Spain, that it was not an encouraging one. 

He turned over the leaves of the record for items ; 



30 GREAT-GRAN Dx\I OTHER'S GIRLS. 

and those seven hundred names, recorded the first week, 
made up by far the greater bulk of written matter. 
Since then he had recorded only the names of the 
patients he had treated, and the dead he had buried ; 
and he was surprised to see how nearly the names 
tallied, — whether because the patients had or had 
not taken his medicines, he could not say. 

The Bishop had written him that if he could not 
make any impression on the older people, he must di- 
rect his efforts toward the children. Good advice, cer- 
tainly ; but how was it to be carried out ? At that 
instant his question was answered by an uproar in the 
chapel. Peeping in through the striped Indian blankets 
which curtained off the sacristy, he saw that Monita, 
grown more audacious, had marshalled her troop in 
the very sanctuary, and was performing for them a 
travesty of the Mass before the altar. 

Issuing suddenly, he confronted the rabble. Some 
fled, but Monita stood her ground courageously, and 
the rest waited to protect her. Fray Ignacio, contrary 
to their expectation, smiled graciously. He could 
make himself understood in their language now, and 
he said very kindly : '" Ah ! dear children, I see you 
wish to play ; come, then, into my little garden, where 
it is much pleasanter, and where you shall have all 
the room you desire in which to dance." He opened 
the door with an engaging smile. The children had 
not before this seen the interior of the garden, for it 
was enclosed by the high mud walls of the Mission 
building, which on the garden side formed long por- 
ticos or arched cloisters, pleasant, shady corridors in 
which to walk. The sun shone brightly on the well- 



MONITA. 33 

ordered beds of onions, chilli, and other vegetables 
edged with flaming Mexican sage and brilliant cacti^ 
and the place looked very inviting ; but Monita sus- 
pected a trap, and hesitated. Fray Ignacio accordingly 
went into the garden and busied himself with watering 
his flowers, taking care to leave the door wide open. 
Curiosity spurred Monita on ; she entered, leaving a 
guard of small boys to make sure that retreat was not 
cut off. Fray Ignacio smiled encouragingly, broke off 
a spray of flowers, and tossed it to her. Monita beck- 
oned to her retinue, and they also entered, plucking the 
flowers, but with a questioning, sly look. Fray Ignacio. 
although it tore his heart to see his beloved flowers 
so ruthlessly gathered, allowed it graciously, and the 
troop explored the garden with much interest. Only 
when one bolder than the rest spied his melon-patch 
and swooped down upon it did he make any objection ; 
at the same time he plucked the largest melon, and cut 
and distributed it equally. The hungry little horde 
devoured the melon and asked for more. " To-mor- 
row," said Fray Ignacio ; '' come to-morrow when I 
ring the bell, and you shall have some." 

On the morrow a larger band of children trooped at 
the ringing for angelus into the church. They hud- 
dled a))out the door leading into the garden, which to 
their disappointment was locked. Fray Ignacio came 
down from the loft where he had been strikins: the bell 
with a hammer, and kindly said, "We are ready for 
melons, is it not so?" 

"• Melons, melons," clamored the mob of children. 

" Good ; but first you nuist repeat a little verse after 
me ; " and the i^ood father ffave them the " Ave Maria." 



o4 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

The children laughed and stared, all but Monita, who 
mimicked him boldly, repeating gibberish instead of the 
words of the prayer. 

" Very good," said Fray Ignacio, " but you can do 
better ; now try again." 

This time Monita repeated the words correctly after 
him. 

" Now make your company do the same, and you 
shall all have your melons." 

Monita harangued her followers, and all repeated the 
prayer with more or less success. 

Fray Ignacio at once threw open a door leading 
into the refectory, — a bare room with a long rough 
table in the centre, on which were placed two wooden 
trenchers filled with slices of melon. He had not 
thought it best to admit this large company into his 
garden, lest his melon-patch should be despoiled at one 
fell swoop. 

After that and throughout the melon season Fray 
Ignacio maintained a successful class of young 
catechumens. 

Monita made the most progress; but there were others 
also who were bright, and who did credit to these oral 
lessons. But at last the melons were all devoured, and 
Fray Ignacio was at his wit's end for means of attract- 
ing his pupils. Finally he bethought himself of an old 
bass-viol on which as chorister in tlie Toledo Cathedral 
he had been no mean performer. He brought it out 
one day; but at its first deep bellow the entire class 
took to their heels, thinkino; that here was some wild 
animal of an unknown species. Only the tall boy 
Pope lingered ; he had come to regard with composure 



MONITA. 37 

the horses and beeves which the Spaniards had intro- 
duced, and he was not to be frightened by tliis gruff- 
voiced creature, be it bird or demon. 

Fray Ignacio further reassured the boy by singing the 
words of a Latin hymn to the Virgin, — 

'■ Ave, llegina coeloruin, 
Ave, Domina angelorum. 
Salve radix, salve porta, 
Ex qua nuindo lux e.st orta. 
Gaude, Virgo gloriosa, 
Super omnes speciosa. 
Vale, O valde decora, 
Et pro nobis Christum exora," — 

which Fray Ignacio translated afterward into some- 
thing like the following : — 

" Ilail, Queen of heaven and angels, 
Through whom came earth's true light, 
Virgin above all blessed ! 
Rejoice with great delight, 
And beg thy dear Son Jesus 
To bless us all to-night." 

Pope realized that this was nuisic, and began to 
dance solemnly. Monita, peering into the church, lost 
her fear and entered dancing ; and soon the chapel was 
filled with dancing children. It was a pagan dance, — 
the " cachina," which their parents performed at harvest- 
time in honor of the sun-god ; but Fray Ignacio did not 
check them just then. Afterward he modified the 
dance into a procession round the church, — a sort of 
Via crucis, with a pause and a bow^ before each of the 
pictures which represented the stations of the cross, 
and he taught them to sing as they went through, with 
harsh, unmelodious voices, the words of his favorite 
hymn. 



38 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

Fray Ignacio longed sorely for the " passos " and 
miracle-plays of Spain, and even for the street-pageants 
of Mexico, where the lives of our Saviour and the saints 
were acted befoi'e the people. Some da3% he said to 
himself, when he had educated a few of the children 
far enough to understand their parts, he would give a 
miracle-play, which should be a more popular spectacle 
than the heathen dances to which the Indians resorted 
at every opportunity. Meantime, the processions prov- 
ing a great success, he allowed the more tractable of the 
children to make the circuit of the village every Sunday, 
carrying banners, processional crosses and images, cen- 
sers and holy water, so that the very troop which had 
mimicked him at the beginning of the year were now 
his devoted acolytes. He had brought with him from 
Spain six little red petticoats and six lace overskirts 
to be used for choir-boys, and he now made these the 
prizes for advanced scholarship. Monita easily out- 
stripped the others; and although a feminine choir-boy 
had heretofore been unheard of, her influence among 
the choristers was so valuable (indeed it was impossible 
to do anything without her) that Fray Ignacio felt 
himself justified by the present peculiar circumstances 
in setting aside church etiquette, and Monita, robed in 
scarlet and fine linen, wvas allowed to swing the censer 
or carry the reliquary as head choir-boy. How she 
became the means of Fray Ignacio's receiving the tur- 
quoise cup will be related in the next chapter. 




THE TURQUOISE CUP. 



CHAPTER III. 

OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE. 

Thus they looked to the South, wherefrom 

The pale-face medicine-man should conie, 

Not in anger or in strife, 

But to bring — so ran the tale — 

The welcome springs of eternal life, 

The living waters that should not fail. 

Said one, " He will come like Manitou, 
Unseen, unheard, in the falling dew." 
Said another, " He will come full soon 
Out of the round-faced watery moon." 
And another said, " He is here ! " and lo, 
Faltering, staggering, feeble, and slow, 
Out from the desert's blinding heat 
The Padre dropped at the heathen's feet. 

Bret Harte. 

Fray Ignacio was gaining ground with the children ; 
but as yet they had no conception whatever of his 
reUgion. They liked him ; they saw that he was a 
benevolent old gentleman, with a weakness for giving 
away toothsome melons. He bored them, it was true, 
by insisting on their reciting senseless words after him ; 
but then again he amused them with processions which 
were very like games, by allowing them to dress up in 
gaudy finery, and by drawing such music as they had 
never before imagined from his wonderful bass-viol. 



42 GREAT-GKANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

They had had many discussions in regard to this- 
marvellous instrument. Pope maintained that it was 
a fetich, an image of some divine bird endowed with 
the miraculous power of singing or wailing whenever 
its stomach was properly tickled or beaten by Fray 
Ig-nacio's sorcerer's wand. 

This opinion gained ground for two reasons : first, 
from the shape of the instrument, which was held to 
resemble a turkey-buzzard, — and certainly when Fray 
Ignacio was performing some of his most difficult pas- 
sages, he did look like a man wrestling in mortal com- 
bat with a lighting ostrich ; and secondly, because Pope's- 
father was a sorcerer, and Pope was suj^posed to be " up 
in fetiches." The Pueblo Indians are zoiitheists, or 
animal worshippers, and Pope's father carved small stone 
images of sacred birds and beasts which he sold to 
hunters to insure them success. So it seemed, but nat- 
ural to the children that the bass-viol was either an im- 
age of one of Fray Ignacio's gods or the deity himself. 

Pope was still enough of a boy to be allowed his- 
freedom to play with the younger children and to form 
one of Fray Ignacio's choristers; but he was also enough 
of a man to understand the injustice which the Span- 
iards exercised, and the dissatisfaction smouldering in 
the minds of the people. Still, he liked Fray Ignacio 
the better the more he came to understand him, — he 
feared him a little, too, as a sorcerer greater than his 
own father, for the Fray could make his fetich talk in a 
melodious though unknown language. Not for worlds- 
would Pope himself have touched the great bass-viol ; 
he would have expected it to stretch out its long neck 
and peck his eyes out for his presumption. 




HER HANDS WERE FOLDED IN PRAYER. 



OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE. 45 

As he came to know Fray Ignacio better, he per- 
ceived that he had other gods, though they did not 
seem so wonderful to Pope as this strange wooden bird. 
One of these fetiches was a picture of a woman wliich 
hung over the high altar. She had a sweet expression, 
her hands were folded in prayer, she stood upon a cres- 
cent moon, and she wore a dark-blue mantle, studded 
with gold stars, brought up over her head in the same 
fashion that the Indian women wore their blankets and 
the Spanish seiioras their mantillas. Fray Ignacio 
spent hours prostrated in prayer before this picture. 
Monita was also much interested in this sweet-faced 
woman. Fray Ignacio had told her that she was the 
especial patroness of the Indians, and had instructed 
her to keep fresh flowers and a candle always burning 
before the picture. 

One day when Monita and Pope were gathering 
flowers for this purpose in the cloister-garden the girl 
asked Fray Ignacio to tell them more about the lady 
who lived in the chapel, who ate nothing but flowers, 
and who was afraid of the dark. 

Fray Ignacio smiled pityingly. " The Queen of 
Heaven, ' ex qua mundo lux est orta,' has no fear of 
darkness or of the powers thereof," he said gently ; and * 
then he told them very simply of Christ and of his 
mother as the Catholic Church understands her. 

" Your Jesus is possibly another name for our Monte- 
zuma," said Pope. " A long time ago all the Indians 
were ruled by g, good king called Montezuma ; but he 
was killed by wicked men^ as you say Jesus was. We 
have a tradition, handed down from our fathers, that 
he is to come again, as you say Jesus will, and will rule 



46 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

over us, and all will be peace and plenty. Every morn- 
ing beacon-fires are lighted by our medicine-men on the 
hill-tops to guide him to his own.^ And one morning, 
as my father was lighting the sacred fires, he saw the 

1 The following poem by Constance Kay admirably sets forth the legend, 
and the custom of the I'lieblo Indians — which is still adhered to — of 

WATC'IIING FOR MONTEZUMA. 

Not many leagues from ancient Santa Fe, 

Where children of the forest yet remain. 
Bright fires are kindled at the break of day 

By dusky hands about a grassy plain. 

The " Builders " told this tale to one I knew, 

And be in turn repeated it to me ; 
We could not tell how much of it was true, 

This legend of the prairies wild and free : 

" Long, long ago there dwelt an Indian chief 
Who!7i all the tribe respected and revered ; 
To him they turned in trouble for relief, 
For Montezuma was both loved and feared. 

" One day a message came to every ear, — 

He wished to meet them in a council grave ; 
With one accord they all assembled near, 
And listened, wond'ring, while these words he gave: 

" ' I go away because I wish to learn 

About a mighty river broad and deep ; 
I go to find it, but I shall return. 

And every morning, as you wake from sleep, 

" ' And see the eastern sky all in a blaze. 

Then think of me, — for I go toward the east, — 
And build a fire to greet the sun's first rays ; 
Forget it not until my toil has ceased, 

" ' For at the sunrise hour I siiall return. 
I cannot tcill how' long my task will be, 
But see ye to it that the fires do burn, 

And at that hour keep on the watch for me ' " 




MONTEZUMA. 



OUK LADY OF GUADALUPE. 



49 



Spaniards marching down into this valley. He ran 
back into the town crying, ' Montezuma is come again!' 
Then the chief men of our pueblo went out and received 
you hospitably, and placed themselves and all that they 
possessed in your hands; but we found out too soon 
that Montezuma was not with you. I see, however, 
that you too expect him, though under another name ; 
and it seems to me that this religion which you have 
been trying to teach us is, after all, our own religion. 
There are many things in it very similar to our own. 
We worship the eagle as mediator between earth and 
heaven : you too have a sacred bird — though it is only 
a dove, and not so lordly as our eagle — which you call 
the ' Espirito Santo/ and which is your messenger be- 
tween the skies and man. There are some things which 
are different ; but that is natural where the language and 
customs are not the same. If you will place a picture 
of the sun — which we worship as a glorious angel — in 
your chapel, and a picture of the frog, which is our me- 
diatory animal between man and water, and the mole 
between our earth and the underworld; if you will 



Still every morning as the glowing sun 
Sends his first beams across the level laud, 

The beacon-fires are lighted, one hy one. 

While gazing eastward patiently they stand. 

And many smile to see them watch and wait, 
Or sneer to look upon a faith so blind ; 

But they whose eyes turn oft to heaven's gate 
In these strange scenes can many lessons find. 

Our Father, thou whose promises are sure, 
And power unlimited, help us to-day 

To keep our love as true, our faith as pure 
As thev who Montezuma's word obey ! 



50 GREAT-aRANDMOTHEll'S GIllLS. 

give these sacred animals place beside your dove and 
the saints of whom we have never heard, — my father 
will, I am sure, receive your religion, and explain to 
the Indians that it is really their own." 

Fray Ignacio was puzzled ; he was not willing to ad- 
mit that this sun-worshipping, animal-canonizing re- 
ligion was on a par witii his own, and yet might it not 
be possible that the same God and Father of us all had 
not left these poor children without some vague reve- 
lation of himself ? 

*'' My religion is your religion," he replied solemnly. 
" The mother of our Jesus, him whom it is very possible 
you have been expecting under the name of the old Aztec 
King Montezuma, has sent me to you to explain it all 
more clearly. Let me tell you just how it happened. 
In Old Mexico, where the ancient King Montezuma 
lived, his people have accepted our religion. They 
were convinced that it was intended for the Indian as 
well as the white man by two notable appearances of 
the Virgin to Indians. The first was to Papantzin, the 
sister of Montezuma, and the second was that of Our 
Lady of Guadalupe, of whom Monita was just now^ ask- 
ing me, to a poor Indian named Juan Diego. It w^as 
only a little more than a hundred years ago, and is 
well attested. Tliis Juan Diego was going to Mass 
early one morning when he heard the music of angels 
and saw a lady standing on a cloud, who told him to 
go to the good Bishop, Don Juan Zumaraga, and tell 
him to build a church for Indians upon that spot. The 
poor man did as he was told ; but the Bishop Avould not 
believe the prodigy. Again and again the same lady 
appeared to him with the same command, and Juan 



OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE. 51 

Diego went again to the Bishop, who told him that he 
must bring some sign that liis story was true. The 
next day Diego's uncle was very ill of the fever ; and in 
hastening for help Diego determined to go round the 
hill, so as not to be delayed by the persistent lady. But 
she met him in a new place, and being informed of his 
haste, told him not to be anxious, for his uncle was 
cured, but to carry some roses for her to the Bishop, as 
the sign which he had demanded. Juan Diego turned, 
and filled his blanket with superb roses growing from a 
barren rock. These he carried to Bisliop Zumaraga, and 
lo ! when he had taken them from the folds of his gar- 
ment there was the picture of the lady imprinted on 
his blanket. 

" Then the Bishop believed the token, and built a 
chapel on the hill where the miraculous picture of 
the Virgin was hung, and named it " Our Lady of Gua- 
dalupe.' Juan Diego became a priest. And from that 
time, since it was so clearly proved that the Blessed 
Virgin desired it, the work of Christianizing the In- 
dians went nobly on. I myself have stood in that 
chapel, and the picture which hangs in our own church 
is a copy painted on skin of that blessed portrait, — 
Our Lady the Mother of Jesus, who is the patroness of 
the poor Indians, and who has sent me to labor for 
their conversion." 

Fray Ignacio's zeal had its natural effect : not only 
were Monita and Pope won, with many other children, 
but Monita's father, the old silversmith Koba, became 
an ardent convert ; and even Pope's father, the old sor- 
cerer, though he could not be said to have renounced 
his former religion, allowed the new one to be grafted 



52 GREAT-GKANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

upon it, and desired to be known henceforth by the 
Christian name which he had received at his compul- 
sory baptism. On consulting the record Fray Ignacio 
found that he had given him the name of Simon 
Masrus, the sorcerer, and he saw no reason as yet to 
change it. Simon Magus possessed great influence 
among the tribe, and by a Jesuitical explanation of the 
new religion as in some way calculated to benefit their 
temporal condition, he brought in many more converts ; 
and at last a certain success, though far from what he 
desired, crowned Fray Ignacio' s efforts. 

It was a part of Monita's duty as altar-boy to scour 
the church plate, the candlesticks, and the pyx and pat- 
ten, which were all of pewter. It vexed her that, rub 
as hard as she might, she could never make these as 
resplendent as her silver armlets and anklets ; and she 
once complained to Fray Ignacio of the base quality 
of the church metal. "It is indeed a source of grief 
to me," said the worthy priest ; " and especially that 
while the drinking-flagons on the table of many a gran- 
dee in Spain are of pure silver, the precious blood of 
our Lord should be poured into so unworthy a chalice. 
It is one of my dearest hopes that some day some 
wealthy and generous soul shall make to Our Lady of 
Guadalupe a present of a cup set with precious stones, 
worthy of its sacred office." 

From that time an intense desire possessed Monita 
to give that cup. She brought to bear all the influence 
which she possessed upon her father and Pope. She knew 
that the assertion that the oriiaments which Koba man- 
ufactured were hammered from silver dollars was false, 
and that messengers secretly brought him silver from 




MISSION INDIANS. 



OUK LADY OF GUADALUPE. 55 

the great mines, but in small quantities, to avoid suspi- 
cion. And she now threatened to confess this to Fray 
Ignacio, unless he would consent to make her such a 
cup as she desired. Through Pope she hoped to obtain 
the gems for its decoration. The images which Simon 
Magus fashioned as fetiches for the hunters were from 
cornelian, obsidian or volcanic glass, amethysts, tur- 
quoises, and petrified wood ; and Monita urged Pope to 
prevail upon his father to devote the gems in his pos- 
session to this object. "There is no need for that," 
explained Pope ; " I know where the turquoises are 
found. The last hunting expedition which I made was 
not after antelope, but to get my father a pouch of 
these stones. I can gather a handful of them for your 
cup, but you must never, never tell where you obtained 
them, or these greedy Spaniards will seize everything. 
Fray Ignacio is all very well ; but Captain Zuniga is 
quite another kind of animal." 

And so the cup was fashioned and displayed, with 
the result, which Monita had not foreseen, that Captain 
Zuniga, who seldom or never entered the little chapel, 
spied it with his lynx eyes on the first day that it was 
used. It was not in simple bravado >that she had an- 
nounced herself the donor ; Captain Zuniga would soon 
have ascertained that fact, and she was determined 
that he should not vex any of the others. As for her- 
self, she did not fear; the cup was a present to the 
Virgin, and she placed herself under the direct protec- 
tion of Our Lady of Guadalupe. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE SECRET TREASURE-CHAMBER. 

On the canon's side, in the ample hollow 
That the keen winds carved in ages past, 
The castle walls, like the nest of a swallow, 
Have clunii; and have crumbled to this at last. 

Above those walls the crags lean over; 
Below, they dip to the river's bed ; 
Between, fierce winged creatures hover ; 
Beyond, the plains' wild waste is spread, 
^'o foot has climbed the pathway dizzy 
That crawls away from the blasted heath 
Since last it felt the ever-busy 
Foot of Death. 

Stanley Woods. 

MoNiTA returned to the altar to replace the reliquary. 
As she did so she saw the Captain whisper to some sol- 
diers, who placed themselves at the different doors of 
the chapel. Slie understood instantly that this was to 
prevent her escape, and that she would have no oppor- 
tunity to speak to her father. Pope stood beside her, 
and she told him what had happened. " Tell my 
father," she said, "not to l)e worried. Captain Zuiliga 
will insist on my guiding him to the mines, and I will 
lead him, — ah ! 1 will lead him such a dance ! " 

" But you do not know where the mines are, and 
when he finds that you have fooled him he will kill 
you," whispered Pope. 



THE SECRET TREASURE-CHAMBER. 



57 



"I can escape from 
him," replied Monita ; 
"I shall take him to 
the cliffs. I can climb 
where they can never 
follow. If I do not 
come back in three days, 
look for me." 

The service was over, 
and the congregation 
filed out. There were 
none left in the little 
chapel but Captain Zu- 
iiiga, standing grim and 
stern beside the rude pul- 
pit, Fray Ignacio, kneel- 
ing, absorbed in prayer, 
the two children, shrink- 
ing behind the confes- 
sional, and the guards at 
the doors. Finally Fray 
Ignacio rose, and Captain 
Zuiiiga accosted him. 

"I see you have been 
more fortunate than I, 
Reverend Father. You 
have been informed of 
the secret of the mines ; 
but is it quite right for 
you to keep all their 
revenue for the Church ? 
Will not the King, think 




Ma 




Till: TUK AM UK-CHAM I5EU. 



68 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

you, demand his royal rights ; and is not something due 
to the settlers and soldiers who have carved out a way 
for you ? " 

Fray Ignacio bowed meekly. " I know no more than 
you, my lord, of the whereabouts of these mines. This 
cup was given as a free-will offering ; I cannot tell 
whence it came." 

*• The child Monita has already told. She will guide 
me to-morrow to the mines ; and that she may not run 
away in the mean time, I shall confine her for the night 
in the guard-house. Soldiers, seize the child ! " 

" Wait," commanded Fray Ignacio ; " let me speak 
to the girl, and let her have time to take off the robes 
of her office." He led Monita into the sacristy. " My 
child," he said, '' I am sorry that the Captain has 
placed his hand on the source of your father's wealth ; 
but there is now no help for it, and I counsel you to 
guide him truly, or it will be worse for you in the end. 
Sooner or later it was inevitable that he should discover 
your secret : do not provoke his wrath by attempting 
to thwart him." 

Monita listened in gloomy silence. She had no in- 
tention of following the priest's well-intentioned advice. 
She allowed herself to be led to the guard-house, Fray 
Ignacio following soon after with some supper and a 
blanket on which she might sleep. 

No one paid any attention to Pope, or saw him, mad 
with indignation, dart out of the church and flee like 
a silently moving shadow far out over the plain. He 
hated all the Conquerors, with the exception of Fray 
Ignacio, and his faith in the new religion was wellnigh 
destroyed by this fresh act of tyranny. At length, when 



THE SECRET TREASURE-CHAMBER. 61 

he had raced until completely exhausted, he threw 
himself on the ground and sat nursing his knees until 
the stars came out ; then he returned to the village and 
gave Koba the message which Monita had sent. 

" She will escape them among the caverns in the cliffs, 
and in three days 1 will go in search of her and take her 
to the pueblo of Taos, which is farther away from Santa 
Fe, where the Indians are more warlike than we." 

Koba heard the news without much misgiving ; his 
ruling emotion was pride in his daughter. '• She cannot 
betray the secret of the mines, for she does not know 
it, and she is capable of taking care of herself. You 
will see." 

The next morning Captain Zuniga, after interroga- 
ting Monita, set out upon his expedition of discovery. 
The child told him what was perfectly true, — that she 
knew of no mines, but that away to the northwest 
there were high cliffs, honeycombed with caves and 
dwellings, which had been the residence of some van- 
ished people, perhaps their own ancestors, — they had 
no records of them, and could not say. Here they had 
found a cache, or treasure-chamber, from which she 
had brought to her father jewels and articles of gold 
and silver. What she neglected to tell the Captain was 
that this chamber had long ago been emptied of all 
its contents which were of any value, and that it was 
situated so high up in the cliff as to be practically 
inaccessible. 

The exploring party, consisting of half the soldiers in 
the garrison, — for Captain Zuniga feared some treach- 
ery on the part of Monita, and there were wild Indians, 
Utes and Narajors, away to the northwest, — started in 



62 



GREAT-GllANDMOrilEK'S GIKLS. 




the early morning, taking willi tliem a train of suuipter- 
niules with panniers in vvhicli to bring back the treasure. 
Monita was at first compelled to run in advance ; but 
after their noonday halt, as the sun poured down pit- 
ilessly on her unpro- 
tected head, and her feet 
were sore with cactus- 
spines, the Captain al- 
lowed her to perch upon 
one of the pack-ani- 
mals. He was moved to 
this act of mercy b}^ 
Fray Ignacio, who had 
decided to accompany 
the expedition, and who 
ambled along in the rear 
on his own fat and lazy 
mule Peloncillo, or - brown sugar," — so named from 
her sweetness of disposition. All day long the band 
moved steadily onward : at first through a chaparral 
or thicket of dwarf sunflowers, their bold brown faces 
nodding saucily, like the heads of so many Indian chil- 
dren topped with gorgeous war-bonnets of some flaunt- 
ing yellow plumage ; on through the orange sea and 
out upon a plain, with clumps of low-growing pinyon- 
trees here and there, with flaming cacti-blossoms sur- 
mounting their misshapen plants ; and now and then 
Monita would slip from her mule to pluck an evening- 
primrose and carry it to Fray Tgnacio. The child 
seemed bewitched by the jasmine-like odor of the 
flowers, and was always on the alert to hnd them, sniff- 
ing the air and searching patiently when the penetrating 



ONE OF THK PACK-ANIMAT.S. 



THE SECRET TKEASURE-CHAMBER. 63 

fragrance told her that one must be hidden near by. 
Presently even these traces of vegetation disappeared ; 
the party seemed to have struck into a dried water- 
course ; the land grew more and more barren and rocky, 
ascending by a sort of irregular natural stairway full of 
barrancas, or holes made by washouts, between low hills 
toward the cliffs which loomed in the distance. 

" Muy feo camino " (a very bad road), grumbled the 
men, while the fiery Castilian liorses strained and 
slipped and stumbled. The staying-powers of the 
mules and their surefootedness brought them to the 
front, and Fray Ignacio serenely chanted the praises 
of Peloncillo in Latin : — 

" Orientis nartibus 
Adventavit asinus 
Pulcher et fortissimus, 
Sarcinis aptissimus. 

He, Sire Ane, he ! " 

which may be translated freely : — 

" From jiarts of the East 
Came this gentle beast, 
So handsome and brave, 
Yet man's willing slave. 
All hail to the donkey ! let 's sing him a stave." 

At last, having clambered through winding arroyas 
or gulches, through narrow passes and up difficult 
defiles, they reached the moraine which led to the foot 
of the clilf. There it towered above them a sheer 
rocky wall of red sandstone some two hundred feet in 
height. In places the wall was striated with strata of 
rock and earth of different colors, and it has been sug- 
gested that the Indians gained the designs of gay 



64 



GRKAT-GRANDMO'IllEK'S GIRLS. 



stripes and bands which they weave in their blankets 
from these bizarre markings. Half-way up the face 
of the clilf were hundreds of cave-like openings, some 
partially closed by walls of masonry of a different and 
harder stone than that in the neighborhood. How these 
blocks had been hoisted to their present position, no one 
knew, for the race which had formerly inhabited these 
dwellings had passed away, leaving no traditions. Over 




" MAx's WILLING SLAVK." 

some of the openings rafters and solid beams projected, 
which had once formed roofs and balconies ; some had 
been plastered and painted, others were merely holes 
like the nesting-places of swallows. Panting, the party 
paused at the foot of the cliff, and craned their necks 
to stare upward. 

" Where is the treasure-chamber ? " asked Captain 
Zuiiiga. 

Monita led him along the base of the cliff to where 
the wall was highest and most perpendicular, and 
pointed upward. Two thirds of the distance to the 



THE SECRET TREASURE-CHAMBER. 65 

top there seemed to be a natural cavern or shelf of the 
rock, overhung by a beetling crag ; and in this cranny 
in the clift' was built a house of two stories, its roof 
and rear wall the cliff, but its front and sides of care- 
fully laid stones. There were windows in the front, 
and a door on one side opening upon the rocky shelf, 
while on the other a small cistern was hollowed in the 
rock, from which the water had been probably hoisted 
to a window above. 

" You go in at the door on this side," explained 
Monita, " and you will find a passage-way leading into 
the heart of the mountain ; you have only to follow 
it to find the cache." 

The soldiers laughed mockingly. " You go in at the 
door : that is well ; but how ? None of us can fly." 

" You have only to follow me," replied Monita ; and 
she ran up the sloping talus formed of debris which 
the weather had splintered from the cliff, until she 
reached a point at an angle from the house where 
notches had been cut in the wall, making a foothold for 
a very bold and expert climber. Into these crevices 
she inserted her hands and feet, hugging the wall 
closely, and climbing along the face of the cliff slowly 
but surely toward a little bracket of rock, on which a 
trail zigzagged up to the shelf which formed the porch 
of the strange house .^ 

Every one held his breath as she drew herself up 
over the projecting bracket ; but her grip was firm, and 
having reached this point of vantage, the rest of the 
w^ay was easy. A cheer of admiration rang from the 
men as she reached the house and disappeared in 

^ See frontispiece. 



66 GREAT-GKANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

the interior : a cheer followed by intense silence. 
How was any one to follow her ? How had that house 
ever been built in so uncanny a place ? Was it not 
the work of wizards ? 

Captain Zufiiga turned to two of the men who had 
been sailors, and commanded them to climb ; but they 
shook their heads. " Give us but a mast, be it ever so 
unsteady, or a rope's end ; but that sheer wall ! it is 
more than the rashest hunter of gull's eggs would 
attempt." 

It was growing dark in the valley ; and there being 
nothing else to be done, the party went into camp. 
Water had been brought with them in wine-skins, and 
fires were speedily kindled, around which the soldiers, 
too tired even to gamble, soon fell asleep. 

But Captain Zuiiiga still stared up at the cliff, which, 
though not so finely sculptured as the raiore southern 
palaces, was still grand and white in the moonlight ; 
and as he looked, he strove to devise some means for 
accomplishing its ascent. Presently he threw up his 
hand with a gesture of triumph, and wrapping his 
cloak about him, lay down with a satisfied grunt. 
But he did not fall asleep at once ; he was disturbed 
by a low, monotonous sound ; and turning, he saw Fray 
Ignacio reading his breviary and praying aloud, — 

^' Qui habitat in adjutorio Altissimi, — He that 
dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High," read 
the good man, '' shall abide under the shadow of 
the Almighty." Surely Monita was in the secret 
place of the Most High, and she must be safe. He 
read on with a growing faith which triumphed over 
all dismay: ''He shall deliver thee from the snare of 




SCULPTURE FROM THE SOUTHERN PALACES. 



THE SECRET TREASURE-CHAMBER, 69 

the fowler," on to " thou shalt see the reward of the 
wicked." Captain Zuniga did not understand Latin, 
but he felt that Fray Ignacio's prayers were hardly 
likely to aid his schemes ; and the priest rolled out 
the last sonorous words, " retributionem peccatorum 
videbis," with such gusto that he could not help thinking 
there was something personal in them, and he angrily 
bade him reserve his devotions for a more seemly hour. 

Morning dawned, and Captain Zuiliga's plan devel- 
oped itself. " That house is not far from the top of 
the cliff ; we will make a detour, climb the mountain 
from the opposite side, and then some one can be let 
down from the top with ropes." 

After breakfast a detachment of the party proceeded 
to reconnoitre the cliff, and after some hours' search 
succeeded in finding an approach to the top. They 
mounted enthusiastically, and found on the summit the 
ruins of what Fray Ignacio, who had seen similar re- 
mains in Mexico and Yucatan, thought must have 
been a Toltec city. They would have explored these 
with interest, but for the particular errand on which 
they had come. They hurried to the edge of the cliff ; 
but each as he leaned over, shrank back pale and dizzy. 
Even the sailors, who had boasted that they would do 
anything at a rope's end, declined to be lowered. 

Captain Zuniga caused a windlass to be constructed 
from some trees growing on the summit, and ordered 
a number of long leatlier lariats, such as the Span- 
ish herdsmen carry at their saddle-bow, to be firmly 
knotted together. Then lie offered a prize to any 
one who would descend ; but no one volunteered. It 
was in vain that he fumed and raged, calling them all 



70 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

cowards ; the soldiers shrugged their shoulders, and 
one of them remarked beneath his breath that they 
were no greater cowards than the Captain himself. 
The Captain heard this, and stung by the imputation, 
ordered the men to lower him. 

Very steadily this was accomplished ; and presently 
Monita, who had not anticipated this means of ap- 




ON THK SUMMIT, RUIXS. 

proach, was startled by seeing his form swing by the 
window. For an instant she hesitated. There was a 
stone tomahawk with sharpened edge at her hand : she 
might cut that line, and let him fall into the chasm be- 
low. But some divine impulse moved within her, and 
instead, as he swung once more within reach, she clung 
to the side of the window witli one hand, and with the 



THE SECRET TREASURE-CHAMBER. 71 

other caught and steadied the lariat, thus enabling 
the Captain to scramble inside. He was sick with diz- 
ziness when he entered, and not a little surprised at her 
help, though he attributed it only to motives of policy. 
He regarded her for an instant with a strange expres- 
sion, which was almost gratitude ; then demanded 
gruffly, " Where are the treasures ? " 

Monita spread open her hands deprecatingly : " They 
have been carried away ; the vault is empty." 

An expression of the intensest rage swept over the 
Captain's countenance ; he bounded into the cave at 
the back of the house, and convinced himself by a 
hasty inspection that she spoke the truth. There 
were only a few articles of pottery, jars glazed and 
colored and incised in various patterns, ashes from a 
fire long quenched, and a few stone implements. 

Beside himself with madness, he dashed at the child, 
who shrank from him outside the window, clinging to 
the sill for support. To tlie horror of the spectators 
at the foot and at the top of the cliff, the Captain un- 
sheathed his sword and hacked brutally at the little 
fingers, until they relaxed their grasp, and with one 
wikl, despairing cry Monita dropped down the sheer 
precipice and lay motionless at the foot of the cliff. 



CHAPTER V. 

OUR LADY DEL PILAR. 

Shine, brighter now, ye stars that crown 

Our Lady del Pilar, 
And rejoice in thy grave, Cid Campeador 

Kuy Diaz de Bivar 1 

SOUTHEV. 

" QuONiAM angelis suis mandavit de te," cried Fray 
Ignacio in an agony of fear, " in manibns portabunt 
te." ' 

And yet it must be confessed that his faith was very 
weak ; and as he rushed liorror-stricken down the wind- 
ing path up which he had toiled so cautiously, it was 
not so much with any idea of aiding Monita (she must 
be past all help now) as from a mortal repugnance to 
meeting the Captain, who was being hoisted to tlie sum- 
mit. The thought that he might possibly reach her 
before she breathed her last, and administer the sacra- 
ment (which he always carried on such expeditions in 
a case next his heart), gave wings to his feet, and he 
hastened to the spot where the child lay. To his sur- 
prise, although unconscious, she was still living. A 
hasty examination showed that her left arm and two 

^ For he shall give his angels charge over thee. They shall bear thee 
up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. Psalm xci. 
n and 12. 



OUR LADY DEL PILAU. 75 

ribs were broken ; what internal injuries there might 
be he could not tell. One of the soldiers set the arm 
and applied a plaster to the hurt side. The pain wliich 
this operation caused brought Monita to herself. She 
bore up bravely when she found that she was in Fray 
Ignacio's arms, closing her eyes and allowing them to 
do with her what they pleased, only insisting on hold- 
ing the padre's hand with her right one. Fray Ignacio 
bound up the bleeding fingers, and some of the soldiers 
constructed a litter, while others volunteered to carry 
it in turn. They were not all devoid of every spark 
of divine pity, these rough men. There were some 
among them who liad done more cruel deeds than this 
of their chief; but there were others who were like 
Spain's great knight, the Cid, who could be fierce and 
brutal when heated by battle, but could not abide 
an act of cold-blooded barbarity, especially in others. 
These, with a rough courtesy worthy of Ruy Diaz, 
placed the wounded girl upon the litter and scowled 
a surly disapprobation upon their leader. 

Captain Zuiiiga himself had had time to consider 
when he joined them, and as he saw the scowls of 
disapprobation on the faces of his men, was rather glad 
than otherwise that Monita had not been killed by her 
fall. As soon as the noon-day heat had abated, he 
gave the order to return to the presidio. He made no 
objection when the men took up the litter, but placing 
himself at the head of his troop, affected not to see 
what was done. And now it was Fray Ignacio's turn 
to look for the evening-primroses, and, gentl}^ disen- 
gaging his hand, to pick such as he was fortunate 
enough to find, and lay them on Monita's breast. The 



76 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS, 

contorted lines in her face always relaxed as she recog- 
nized the sweet perfume. 

They marched all night, and at sunrise approached 
the pueblo. Montezuma's beacon-fire was burning 
dimly in the light of dawn on a mound not far from 
the village, and an erect young form was outlined be- 
side it darkly against the glowing sky. It was some 
one watching, but not for Montezuma ; for his gaze 
was directed toward the west, and he bounded down 
the slope of the natural watch-tower as he saw the 
approaching company, and ran to meet it. 

It was Pope, and he uttered a cry of despair as he 
caught sight of the litter. Fray Tgnacio took him by 
the hand. "Hush!" he said; ''she is not dead, only 
hurt ; and if you are noisy you will disturb her. She 
fell from the cliff. Go and tell her parents, and say 
that I shall take her to my own house, where there is 
more room and I can nurse her better." 

But Pope would not stir from the litter ; he watched 
Monita with an agonized expression, and marched on 
steadily beside her, uttering no word, and apparently 
deaf to all that was said to him, until the men carried 
the litter through the church and the bright little 
cloister garden and laid the child on the priest's bed. 
Then he darted away, and presently returned with his 
father, the old medicine-man. "I have brought him 
to cure her," he said. 

'•'What would you do for the child, Simon Magus?" 
asked the padre. 

The sorcerer shook his head, and pointed to her rising 
color. "She has the fever," he said; "she will die. 
Nevertheless, I will give her a sweat-bath ; I will paint 



OUR LADY DEL PILAR. 79 

her, to strengthen her heart ; I will bring some fetiches, 
— bat it is of no use, she will die." 

" Stop," said Fray Ignacio. " You say that she will 
die, in spite of anything you can do : then leave her with 
me ; bring your fetiches if you will, but do not carry 
her away. Sit outside the chapel-door, and beat your 
tom-tom to keep away the bad god, and let me beseech 
the good One to cure her, and do my best for her here." 

Simon Magus consented readily. He was too shrewd 
a physician to desire a hopeless case : if the padre took 
care of her, no one could blame the sorcerer if she died. 
He was pleased with the suggestion that he might do 
something, and he carried his drum to the church-steps, 
and served Fray Ignacio by answering the inquiries of 
the curious and the anxious. 

" And now," said the padre to Pope, " where are the 
child's parents ? Why does not Koba, the silversmith, 
come to inquire for his daughter?" 

" They ran away," Pope replied, " to Taos when 
Monita led the Spaniards on this expedition, and they 
expect her to meet them there." 

" Then go to them and tell them what has happened. 
I shall need her mother's help in nursing the child." 

But Pope shook his head. " Others have legs, send 
them ; I will stay and help you nurse Monita." 

Another messenger was sent, and Fray Ignacio and 
Pope applied themselves to their task. The boy was 
of more help than the padre had anticipated. He 
watched the little patient devotedly when Fray Ignacio 
snatched a few moments' sleep in the hammock in the 
cloister, or performed his chapel duties. He seemed 
never to sleep himself ; for while the padre was at the 



80 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

child's bedside he prepared his meals, ran errands, swept 
the chapel, pounded the bell with the great iron hammer, 
after the Spanish style, instead of ringing it, glided 
here and there, alert, silent, uncompromisingly faithful. 

At length, one dark night, Monita's mother stole si- 
lently in like a ghost and took her place by her child. 
Then Pope gave a grunt of satisfaction, which was at' 
the same time a moan of weariness, and curling up in 
the corner of the room, fell asleep. Koba had not 
dared to come back. He feared that Captain Zuniga 
would torture him until he revealed the secret of the 
silver mines, and then kill him ; but mother-love was 
stronger in this poor woman's heart than the fear of 
death, and she had walked many weary miles to leave 
a place of safety for one of peril for her child's sake. 

We have said that Fray Ignacio had learned some 
secrets of the healing art from a study of the old 
Moorish books of- alchemy left from the Saracen school 
of magic in Toledo which existed in that city before 
the expulsion of the Moors. The Inquisitor, Cardinal 
Ximenes, had given orders that this splendid Arabic 
library and laboratory, which was little more than one 
of chemistry after all,^ should be burned ; but the ex- 

1 A glance at the many terms now nsed in chemistry which show traces 
of their Arabic origin in the prefix al, the Arabic word for •' the," will show 
how deeply indebted is oui- modern chemistry to the Al-cheniy (:=the 
chemistry) of the Saracens. 

Some of the more common of these words are, — 

Al-cohol = the spirit. 

Al-embic = the cup. 

.\l-kali = the soda. 

Al-udel = the still. 
They are found not in chemistry alone, but in other departments of science ; 
as al-gebra, al-manach, and the namc^s of many of the stars. 




THE LITTLK PATIKNT. 



OUE LADY DEL PILAR. 83 

aminers secretly spared some on account of the beauty 
of their iHuminations. These were preserved in Fray 
Ignacio's convent ; and as he had studied Arabic under 
the impression that he might be sent on a mission to 
the Infidels, he was able to read them. Some of the 
knowledge thus obtained he now applied to Monita's 
case. The broken bones united, the flesh-wounds 
healed, by degrees the fever reached its height and 
passed ; but Monita did not recover. There was some 
hidden trouble which all the leech's medicaments could 
not reach, and the child lay in the hammock, which 
hung in the cloister, an entire year after the accident, 
still unable to use her lower limbs. Her form was 
wasted with fever, and her eyes were hollow with the 
sufferino; which she still endured. Tliere was somethinsr 
wrong with her back, and her legs were paralyzed. 
Fray Ignacio, anxious and helpless, looked pityingly at 
his little charge, and wondered if Monita, the frolicsome, 
dancing, climbing sprite, must be a cripple all her life. 
He had brouglit the Virgin of Guadalupe away from 
her station above the high altar, and had hung the pic- 
ture opposite the head of Monita's hammock, where the 
child could hourly supplicate her mercy, and where the 
Virgin must have her constantly under her notice. He 
had done more. To remind the Viro;in of Monita's aren- 
erosity, he had built a bracket under the picture, and on 
this he had placed the precious cup which the child had 
given to the Virgin, and for which she had paid so dearly. 
Pope, following Fray Ignacio's questioning glance 
toward these sacred objects, remarked one morning, 
"This lady-god does not seem to know much about 
curing backs." 



84 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

'' Hush ! " replied Fray Ignacio ; " it is she, doubtless, 
who has saved Monita's life." 

And then he reflected silently for a few moments. 
According to his belief, the boy might be right. In 
Spain the Holy Virgin of Zaragoza, Nuestra Seilora del 
Pilar, was besought by all cripples. No lame person 
would have thought of asking the intervention of any 
other Virgin, however famous. Every great cathedral 
in Spain had its image of the Madonna ; but these 
images had each their particular mission-field, as it 
were. Our Lady of Valencia was the patroness of the 
insane. The Virgin of the Fray's own city, Toledo, was 
the liberator of captives and prisoners. He remembered 
how her shrine was hung with broken manacles taken 
from Christian slaves liberated from the Infidel. Other 
holy images had such offices as the care of souls in 
purgatory, the guardianship of the royal family. He 
had thought that Our Lady of Guadalupe, as the special 
protectress of the Indians, was the proper one to be be- 
sought in this instance ; but perhaps she had done her 
best, and her knowledge of surgery was not equal to 
the present emergency. He knew that the shrine of 
Del Pilar was festooned with wax limbs, models of legs 
which had been restored from lameness by the Virgin of 
Zarao-oza, and that sheafs of crutches fenced her altar. 
He had kissed the pillar on which it was said the 
Mother of our Lord descended while still alive, being 
borne hither miraculously from Palestine to comfort 
Saint James, who was much discouraged in his mis- 
sionary work among the Infidels. 

Fray Ignacio told the children of this Virgin and her 
traditions. " If I could only send her a votive offer- 



OUK LADY DEL PILAR. 87 

iiig," he said, "I am sure she would have pity on our 
Monita. Tlie Bishop at Santa Fe will be sending back 
to Spain by the supply-ship which sails from Mexico 
this fall, and I might send our adorable cup to Nuestra 
Senora del Pilar ; but Our Lady of Guadalupe would 
not like to be deprived of it." 

Pope listened intently ; then, having sat for a while, he 
silently went out. He did not come back that night, nor 
the next morning ; two, three days passed, and still he 
did not come. The Fray was used to these unexplained 
absences, however. Not infrequently he would be gone 
from the pueblo for days at a time. He was of an age 
now to be counted into some of the working-gangs ; but 
as he was useful to Fray Ignacio, Captain Zufiiga had 
assigned him to the Church. The padre was an easy 
master ; he took it for granted that Pope had been off 
on a hunting expedition, and never upbraided him or 
inquired closely into the cause of his long absences. 
Not another Indian in the pueblo was so free in his 
going and coming. He came back on the fourth day, 
tired and dusty as usual ; but this time, contrary to his 
usual custom, he volunteered an explanation. 

^' That other lady needn't be jealous now, she have 
pretty stones plenty ; " and he handed Fray Ignacio a 
handful of turquoises of varying sizes, of irregular 
shape, and of a beautiful robin' s-egg blue color. He 
refused to tell where he obtained them. He had split 
them from the quarries, that was all ; it was where he 
went to procure stones for his father's fetiches. He had 
carried them in his cheeks, like a squirrel ; for his mouth 
was his only pocket, and if he had run any risk of 
detection, he would have swallowed them. 



88 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

" I will send these to Our Lady of Zaragoza," said 
Fray Ignacio, much pleased ; " I have no doubt she will 
be gracious. I remember that our royal queen hung 
an image of this Virgin round the neck of her favorite 
bull-fighter. I have seen him perform the most won- 
derful feats in the ring. It was beautiful, it was di- 
vine, to see him jump clear over the horns of the bull, 
and seize his tail and twist it. then jump and run ! 
His legs were even more nimble than thine, m}^ Monita. 
Such beautiful legs, too, in light-green satin small- 
clothes, with rose-colored silk stockings. It must have 
done Del Pilar's heart good to protect those legs, for no 
lady could help admiring them." 

'' And did she protect them ? " Monita asked. 

" His legs ? Oh, yes ! a barbarian of a bull trampled 
him to death and horribly mangled his poor face ; but 
his legs were never injured, they were under the care 
of Del Pilar!" 

Fray Ignacio spent much time polishing and cutting 
the turquoises. '• I have seen some which came from 
Persia," he said, " which were cut very cunningly by 
the Orientals ; they had scratched words from the 
Koran in their strange Arabic letters on the stones, and 
had then filled the grooves with gold. They were very 
beautiful, but no one dared to wear them, on account of 
the inscriptions." 

" These stones." he continued, " are in their natural 
state amulets. They will change color if the one who 
gave them is in any sickness or trouble, no matter if 
the sea lie between them and him. Whereby some 
have rashly concluded that it is by the art of the devil 
that they do this. But this to me is manifest heresy, 



OUR LADY DEL PILAR. 91 

for the devil doth nothing for love, but for hate. 
Whereby I conclude that this grace is given them by 
Our Lady, who is love itself, and that these stones are 
especially favored and beloved of her." 

In spite of Fray Ignacio's simple faith and Pope's 
offering, which the good priest had sent on the first 
occasion to Zaragoza, another year passed by, and Mo- 
nita grew no better. One day there came to Fray 
Ignacio a letter which filled him with great longing. 

The Bishop of Santa Fe wrote that on the next re- 
turn of the supply-ship the most excellent and illus- 
trious Fray Payo de Rivera Enriquez, at the same time 
Archbishop and Viceroy of Mexico, wished to send back 
to Spain to be educated a few Christianized Indian boys 
and girls as the fruits of the frontier missions, to show 
the Church at home what was being done by her faith- 
ful soldiers at the front. The Bishop of Santa Fe con- 
fessed that in all his diocese he was able to number but 
three who would be a credit to the cause ; and this, he 
intimated, was owing to the fact that the governors of 
the presidios had not favored the establishment of 
schools, or aided the friars in their efforts, but had 
kept at hard labor all but infants of most tender years. 
He trusted that in Fray Ignacio's flock some might be 
found forward in the use of the Spanish language, of 
prepossessing manners, and intelligently indoctrinated 
into the mysteries of the holy religion. 

Fray Ignacio looked lovingly at Monita. Who so 
well fitted as she to do credit to his labors ? And if 
she were once in Spain, and could be anointed with the 
oil from the silver lamps which swung before Del 
Pilars shrine, which possessed such a miraculous heal- 



92 GREAT-GKANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

irig power, lie had no doubt she would recover. But it 
was impossible to send her in her present condition, 
and with a heavy sigli lie told Pope of the opportunity 
just beyond their reach. 

Pope rose to his full height. '' Monita must go," he 
said. •' The medicine-woman of the Pilar does not care 
for the blue stones ; we must give her a more costly 
present. Fray Ignacio, I know the secret of the mines. 
No one knows it in this village but Koba and myself. 
I was Koba's messenger. If Monita is cured, I will 
take yon to them, and you may have as much silver 
as you want for the medicine-woman and our Lady of 
Guadalupe, and for the great singing turkey and your- 
self ; but you must not tell Captain Zufiiga, or any 
of his men, or he will take the mines away from us 
entirely." 

This was important information. Fray Ignacio pon- 
dered on it seriously. He forgot the counsel to submis- 
sion which he had previously given. Pie saw no reason 
now why he should inform Captain Zuiliga ; these 
mines might be kept as the patrimony of the (Jliurch 
in trust foi- the Indians. He would not even inform 
the I>ishop at Saute Fe, or the Archbishop- Viceroy in 
Mexico. He would send a. letter directly by the hand 
of Monita (if she recovered sutticiently to undertake 
the journey) straight to a friend of his, a young 
nobleman, Don Jose Sarmiento de Valladares, with 
whom he had had many talks in his student days in 
Spain in reference to the Indians of the New World. 
Don Jose had a reason for being interested in the 
Indians now which Fray Ignacio little suspected ; but 
he knew that his friend was high-minded and chival- 



OUR LADY DEL PILAR. 93 

rous, and that he possessed great influence at court. 
Through hnn he hoped to obtain a royal grant for any 
silver mines which he might discover. 

Fray Ignacio had been in the city of Mexico in 1667, 
at the dedication of the cathedral, and had seen the 
silver image of Our Lady of the Immaculate Concep- 
tion, twenty pounds in weight and a yard high, which 
the silversmiths of Mexico presented as their offering. 
The silversmiths of Spain at this period and during the 
century before had made those wonderful altar-railings 
of which the few that remain are the envy and admira- 
tion of the artists of our own day. There were hang- 
ing-lamps and branching candelabra and other vessels 
of the sanctuary for which these mines might be used ; 
but to do Fray Ignacio justice, it was for none of these 
symbols of outward poinp for which he coveted this 
great wealth. These mines belonged to the Indians, 
and they ought to be held by the Church, he argued, 
in trust for them, the revenue to be expended for their 
moral, political, and physical welfare. He had studied 
carefully the life of Las Casas, and he longed to follow 
in that good man's footsteps and to be himself a second 
protector of the Indians. With these mines at his 
command he could travel, obtain the ear of princes, see 
to the enforcing of laws, publish books, and be a power 
for the right ; and Fray Ignacio had learned by bitter 
experience that good schemes needed money to push 
them quite as much as evil ones. His mind was seeth- 
ing with great plans for his poor Indians, but he did 
not forget the special case in behalf of which Pope had 
made this great offering. 

Was it a miracle, or an instance of mind-cure ? As 



94 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

Fray Ignacio in the mud chapel oilered a special ser- 
vice to the Virgin, promising to send to her shrine in 
Zaragoza the fruit of his first visit to the fabulous mines, 
and was concluding the dedication with his favorite 
hymn ; as he drew the bow across the strings of his 
bass-viol, — voices were heard singing in the sacristy, 
and as in their usual vesper service, the children of the 
choir marched in, led by Monita in her scarlet and 
white robes, tottering and weak, but walking and 
singing, — 

" Gaude, Virgo gloriosa, 
Super omnes speciosa." 



CHAPTER VI. 

CAPTAIN ZUNIGA'S SECRET. 

" Fair damsel," quoth Calaynos, " if thou wilt go with me, 
Say what may win thy favor, and thine that gift shall be. 
Fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale, 
And bonny is the red, red gold, and rich the silver pale." 

J. G. LocKHAKT : Collection of Ancient Spanish Ballads. 

We have hinted at a romance in the life of Captain 
Zimiga, and must now explain it ; for, in a thoroughly 
selfish way, it was woven into the man's life and 
ambition. 

It has been stated that he came to America at the 
instance of his kinsman, the Viceroy Francisco Fernan- 
dez de la Cueva, the Dake of Albuquerque, to aid in 
the formation of the colony which planted the town of 
Albuquerque in New Mexico. This was the apparent 
and final cause for this important step ; but a great 
change in a man's life has generally many obscure 
causes, starting far back, and working on silently until 
the great opportunity comes. 

The De la Cuevas, with whom he was connected 
on his mother's side, had been interested in the New 
World ever since Dona Francisca de la Cueva married 
the great-grandson of Montezuma, Don Diego Luis de 
Montezuma, a young Indian whom Don Martin Cortez 
(grandson of the Conqueror) brought back to Spain 



06 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

with him. Tliis marriage was variously regarded by 
Dona Francisca's family, some considering it a misal- 
liance, and others, who held that young Montezuma 
was a prince, and legitimate heir to the Mexican throne, 
thinking it a step up in the world for the seiiorita. It 
pleased the Spanish monarchs to make pets of the descend- 
ants of this marriage. Certain revenues and privileges 
were granted them, — the right to import cocoa and other 
products without paying duties ; and a long array of 
empty titles, among which was that of Prince or Princess 
of Tula, — a lovely valley in Mexico which had been the 
home of the wife of the first Montezuma, a valley still fa- 
mous for the beauty of its Indian girls. The son of this 
marriage, Don Diego Luis Montezuma de la Cueva, was 
brought up at court as the Queen's page. Here he 
married a noble Spanish lad}^ who became the mother 
of a gentle girl. Dona Geronima Maria Andrea Monte- 
zuma, who was destined to play a part in the histoiy 
of Mexico. 

Captain Zuniga had known this distant cousin. He 
was not constituted with a nature of sufficient fineness 
to appreciate her beautiful character, but he could rec- 
ognize her beauty, and he had a very keen realization 
of her favored position in regard to rank and wealth. 
He had said to his mother once in a spasm of envy : '•• I 
shall go to the Indies to my uncle the ^^iceroy, and 
then marry the daughter of some cannibal ; for the 
De la Cuevas, who have kept their line of descent pure 
by marrying into old hidalgo families, are no better off 
than Saint Francis, who took Doiia Poverty as his 
spouse, while these mongrels are the favorites of royalty 
and of fortune." 




THE SORCEREIt. 



CAPTAIN ZUNIGA'S SECRET. 99 

The Captain's mother looked at her son meaningly. 
"^^ You can find your cannibal princess nearer to your 
hand than the Indies," she replied. 

The young man made a hasty and uncomplimentary 
remark ; but as he strolled up and down the Alameda 
that evening, and saw Doiia Geronima, with a rose at 
her ear, reclining beside her mother in the family car- 
riage, the observed and admired of many a young 
courtier, he began to think that his mother's plan 
might not be such' a bad one after all. He accordingly 
gave the devoted woman permission to propose for 
him, and waited with some trepidation for the result. 

Captain Zuniga's mother performed the delicate er- 
rand during a pause in a bull-fight at which she hap- 
pened to be seated next to Doiia Geronima' s mother. 
That lady confidentially imparted the secret to her hus- 
band before the spectacle was over. This was against 
all rules of Spanish etiquette. The proposal should 
have been made in a formal call with all the punctilios 
of stately politeness ; but the bull which had just been 
despatched before them had proved a good fighter, hav- 
ing mangled five horses and killed two picadors ; so 
that the Count de Montezuma was in good humor, 
and informed DoSa Zuniga that he had deterniintMl 
to marry his daughter to some gentleman of noble 
lineage who would win back for her, either through 
royal favor, conspiracy, or valor, all her hereditary es- 
tates in Mexico and the position of first lady in that 
land. 

Madame Zuniga was somewhat discouraged ; not so 
her son. " One De la Cueva is viceroy of Mexico now," 
he said; "why may I not obtain the position? We 



100 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

have no influence with the King ; I must go out to the 
Indies and see what can be accomplished tiiere." 

And so, without seeking an interview with the lady 
he intended to make his bride, who was all this time 
in utter ignorance of the honor designed for her. 
Captain Zuniga had embraced an opportunity which 
soon ottered itself to emigrate to Mexico, taking with 
him one of his numerous sisters, who, it was hoped, 
would marry well in that distant land. 

His first business upon his arrival had been to inves- 
tigate what he considered his cousin's chances in the 
country. He found that the Indian population of the 
capital, and of course of the State, far exceeded the Span- 
ish ; but the Indians were gentle, peaceable, and at this 
time not at all inclined to rebel against the Spaniards. 
They remembered Montezuma with love and pride, and 
were interested in hearing about his descendants in 
Spain ; but w^hile the Spaniards regarded this family as 
the only legitimate line, there were many other de- 
scendants of Montezuma in Mexico who seemed to the 
Indians to have as good a right to be regarded as his 
heirs. Captain Zuniga did not dare to ?5uggest any 
change of government to the people ; he simply inquired 
diligently, and became convinced that it w^as in vain to 
hope for anything in this direction. The people would 
not rally at the name of Montezuma. 

The Viceroy, feeling that his relative was uneasy, and 
too inquisitive into all matters of government, hastened 
to despatch him with the colony to the wild country in 
the North, confident that a little frontier life would 
quiet his turbulent energies. Captain Zuniga soon 
quarrelled with his associates at Albuquerque; and 




*^-'i<^ .*:m'\.4^L '^^^-JJ 



vj^mt^^ 



SOME GIRLS OF TULA. 



CAPTAIN ZUNIGA'S SECRET. 103 

applying to the Governor at Santa Fe for a pueblo where 
he conld be the supreme lord and master, he was as- 
signed to San Juan. Here he would have had sufficient 
wealth and power to gratify his avarice and domineer- 
ing spirit, but for the secret ambition to found a new 
kingdom, which possessed him like a consuming fire. 
It would have been hard for him to say whether Dona 
Geronima or the kingdom were the means or the end of 
his ambition ; the two thoughts were inseparable now. 
But in all this intense desire there was no real love, no 
sentiment which lifted him higher or made him a nobler 
or more unselfish man. 

He was certain that the best means to attain the end 
he desired was wealth ; and for this reason he had 
sought most sedulously for the famed silver mines. He 
had never thought of conciliating the at first kindly 
disposed Indians, and of winning his kingdom through 
their affections as Fray Ignacio had done ; but it hap- 
pened one day immediately after Pope's announcement 
to Fray Ignacio of his knowledge of the existence of 
the mine that the legend of Montezuma was repeated 
to Captain Zuiiiga by his sister. " Who would have 
thought," she remarked, " that these northern Indians 
would reverence Montezuma even more than the Az- 
tecs, and believe that he will again come to govern 
them ? " 

'' What is that ? " asked the Captain, thoroughly 
interested. 

" They do not think of him as a neighboring king 
ruling over Mexico, but maintain that he was one of 
their own people, and that he lived formerly at Pecos, 
the most eastern of the pueblos, where the sacred fire is 



104 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

kept burning, and where their most honored medicine- 
men and sorcerers reside." 

The Captain listened meditatively, and saw that he 
had made a great mistake. It would have been policy 
for him on his first arrival to have conciliated the 
medicine-men, who possessed so great an influence over 
their people. Fray Ignacio had accomplished a much 
harder task : he had succeeded in partially winning them 
over to a new religion, in substituting new ideas for 
their old, deeply rooted ones. How infinitely easier it 
would have been had he fallen into line with the old 
beliefs and customs, made himself the champion of these 
people, and united all these scattered pueblos into a 
great league against the Spaniards. He had abandoned 
this idea in Mexico because there the Spaniards were too 
firmly seated ; but here their grasp was extremely pre- 
carious. Was it too late now ? It was true that he had 
made himself felt here in San Juan, not as an ally, but 
as a tj^rannical master ; but there were other pueblos 
where he was not known. He would see what could 
be done, shrewdly, cautiously, not appearing openly as 
a traitor to the Spanish cause, but strengthening the 
Montezuma idea, and alert for an opportunity to make 
it serve his purpose. 

He began by attempting to gain the confidence of the 
old sorcerer Simon Magus, by making him gifts. The 
old Indian was greatl^^ surprised : what could be the Cap- 
tain's motive ? It came out presently : he wished his 
son Pope to make the tour of the pueblos with him 
and act as his interpreter. Captain Zuiiiga had a good 
reason for this choice. Although he had no idea of 
the important secret which Pope had just confided to 



CAPTAIN ZUSIGA'S SECRET. 105 

Fray Tgnacio, he could see that the young man was 
most kindly disposed to the priest ; and above all things 
on this trip the Captain ^vished to be represented by 
some one whose sentiments were friendly. He recog- 
nized Pope's general ability as well as his knowledge of 
Spanish, which was better than that of any other Indian 
in the pueblo, and he knew that the young man was 
being instructed by his father into many of the mysteries 
of their religion, which would make it possible for him 
to explain nmcli to the Captain whicli no other could. 
Pope was then in every way best suited to his purpose, 
and Fray Ignacio advised him to secure the favor of the 
Captain by going with him. They would begin, Captain 
Zuniga announced, with tlie pueblo of Pecos. 

At Pecos they met the oldest of the Pueblo priests, 
— a man so crooked and wrinkled, so dried and ghastly, 
that he looked like a mummy ; long locks of gray hair 
fell over his shoulders, and his nails were like birds' 
claws. From his lips Captain Zuniga obtained again 
the legend of Montezuma. '' He is gone, but he will 
come again," mumbled the aged man ; '' and I have 
here the messages ready to send to all the pueblos to 
announce the news of his advent." 

He showed, as he spoke, a bundle of knotted cords 
done up in a cover of deer-skin. " What are these ? " 
the Captain asked of Pope ; " they look like the braided 
whip-lash of a Mexican vaquero." 

'' It is our way of writing," the young man explained. 
" We tie knots in different ways to express different 
ideas, and they are all well understood by the medicine- 
men of each town. For instance, this whip-lash, as you 
call it, says : ' Awake the people ! Let the warriors 



106 GllEAT-GKANDIVIOTHER'S GIRLS. 

adorn themselves with paint, let them choose their 
weapons, and come forth to meet Montezmna. Let the 
women prepare feasts and dances for their king. Let 
great fires be kindled on the watch-towers, for he com- 
eth ! ' Then there is space left to braid a place of meet- 
ing, and provide for other details." 

" And how will these be sent ? " asked Captain Zuniga. 

" The swiftest runners of our community, one for 
each pueblo, keep themselves in practice by daily ex- 
ercise, and wait in readiness to be sent each with his 
message." 

"How shall you know Montezuma when he comes ?" 
he asked of the old man. 

" He will have long and wavy black hair, but a fair 
face. Moreover, there are other marks by which we 
shall know him, which I may not reveal to you." 

Captain Zuniga saw that the Montezuma of the Pue- 
blos was a being somewhat akin to, if not identical with, 
Quetzalcoatl, the Fair God of the Aztecs, who, it was 
fabled, left Mexico in a canoe of serpent-skins, and was 
to come again from the east to do away with human sac- 
rifices and the worship of the terrible Huitzilopochtl, the 
God of War. The Captain felt the necessity of knowing 
the secret marks by which Montezuma was to be identi- 
fied ; but nothing more was to be obtained from the aged 
priest by cajolery, and he was not in a position to have 
recourse to rougher measures. Evidently Simon Magus 
also knew these signs, and he felt sure that he could 
obtain them from him. From Pecos Captain Zuniga 
desired to go to Taos ; but Pope dissuaded him. 

" That is our northern citadel," he explained. "The 
people there are not kindly and hospitable ; they have 



CAPTAIN ZU!5IGA'S SECRET. 



107 



heard of the coming of the Spaniards, and have deter- 
mined to keep them out of their pueblo. Let us go 
rather to the Gran Quivira, where, if you desire, you can 
learn much of our 
relitirion." 

At Gran Quivira 
the estuf a was 
more like the Az- 
tec temples than 
anything which the 
Captain had yet 
seen. Here was 
kept and worship- 
ped a great ser- 
pent. The Captain 
diligently inquired 
of the legends in 
this pueblo con- 
cernino; Montezu- 
ma, and was glad 
to find them as dis- 
tinctly defined as 
at Pecos. When 
he told the priest 
or medicine-man 
that he had him- 
self seen Montezu- 
ma across the great 
eastern water, and 

that he had promised to send his daughter to them, 
the man received the statement with some incredulity., 
asking him to describe the princess. 




HUITZILOPOCHTL, GOD OF WAR. 



108 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

*'She is fair of face," said the Captain, "and has 
long, wavy, black hair ; she is very beautiful, and very 
rich and kind ; she desires nothing but to make you 
all happy." 

"Tell me more," said the priest, impulsively. "Is 
she undersized, with little hands and feet, and a cross 
mark between her eyes?" 

Captain Zuiiiga at once guessed that, these were the 
signs which the priest at Pecos had so jealously guarded. 
Moreover it chanced that when his cousin was a little 
girl she had fallen and cut her forehead, leaving a small 
scar which answered this description. He replied en- 
thusiastically that she possessed these characteristics ; 
and the priest assured him that on her arrival he would 
make place for the princess in the same chamber with 
the sacred serpent. This hospitality, distinguished as 
it was, was hardly what Captain Zuiiiga desired ; but he 
thanked the man for his good will. He found that he 
was anticipating the message by knotted cord which 
was to be sent from Pecos ; and it suddenly flashed 
upon him that this would be a grand way to call the 
pueblos to allegiance to his bride. He determined that 
he would learn this mysterious mode of communication 
at some not very distant day. He inquired for silver 
at both of these pueblos. At Pecos he was told that 
the silversmith received it l)y messenger from Koba, 
the silversmith of San Juan. This information was 
not translated to him by Popy, but was gathered from 
personal inquiry from the little which he knew of the 
language. It confirmed his suspicion that Monita's 
father could have told him the whereabouts of the 
mines, and he determined to torture him within an 





THEY SAW AT A DISTANCE SOME OF THE APACHES HUNTING. 



CAPTAIN ZUNIOA'S SECRET. lU 

inch of his life if he ever fell into his hands. This 
resolve was written so plainly on his face that Pope 
determined to keep liim from Taos, where Koba had 
taken refuge. At Gran Quivira, where he again made 
his own inquiries in regard to silver, he was told that 
it came from great mines in the South ; but Pope re- 
fused to proceed farther in this direction, as he said 
the region was haunted by strolling bands of Apaches, 
— Indians very fierce and cruel, and inveterate enemies 
of the Pueblos. Captain Zuniga, though he longed to 
proceed on the quest, yet felt that it was better to do 
so with a larger escort, and reluctantly turned back 
toward San Juan. On the way they passed great herds 
of buffalo ; and on mounting the crest of one of the 
mountain ranges, saw at a distance some of the Apaches 
engaged in hunting. These were so engrossed with 
their pursuit that they did not notice the Captain and 
Pope, who made all speed to hasten from the region. 

He came back by way of Santa Fe, stopping to call 
upon the Governor with a stately Spanish courtesy, — 

" Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it ; " 

since he meant one day to dispossess his superior, and 
himself reign a petty sovereign in that long, low, ar- 
caded building pretentiously called " the palace," which 
fronted the plaza. 

He learned from the Governor that a deputation of 
Pueblo children was soon to be sent to Spain, and by 
them might be forwarded any gifts or messages which 
he midit desire to send to kindred or friends. He 
thought at once of Dona Geronima, his cousin. He 
had never written her a love-letter ; surely if what he 



112 GKKAT-GRANUMOTHEIi\S GIKLS. 

hoped was to come to pass it was time to begin. But 
he was not clever with the quill ; it would be better to 
send her some present which would tell by its cost- 
liness all that he desired to say. If only the silver 
mines were actually in his possession, then he could 
dazzle the mind, of the Count de Montezuma and, he 
doubted not, captivate the fancy of the Princess of Tula 
herself. He strolled across the plaza to the booths or 
market and, as though attracted by a magnet, paused 
before an Indian silversmith working at his rude forge. 
The Captain asked him his usual question, where he 
obtained liis ore. The man looked up from his work 
at Pope, who stood beside the Captain, and who was 
just then engaged in re-tying the red handkerchief 
which he wore about his head in the place of a hat. 
It did not occur to the Captain that he was knotting it 
in front instead of behind, and in a peculiar fashion ; 
but so it was, and the silversmith interpreted the 
knot " secrecy." The glance of recognition faded out 
of his face, and he pretended not to understand the 
Captain's question. 

'* Listen," exclaimed the Captain in mingled Pueblo 
and Spanish ; " I believe you understand me better 
than you seem to. I have no designs upon 3^ou, but I 
know that you silversmiths of the dilferent towns are 
acquainted with each other, and that you have secret 
means of communication. Now, our silversmith at San 
Juan, old Koba, has run away, we know not whither. 
He is afraid of me, he thinks that I am angry with 
him ; but I am not. Tell him, if you know where he 
is. that lie may return without fear. Tell him that 
his daughter is going away to Spain, and would like 



CAPTAIN ZUNIGA'S SECRET. 115 

to see him before she goes. Pope, you can tell the 
silversmith whether this is true or not." 

Pope nodded his head reluctantly ; he was not quite 
sure that the Captain ought to be trusted, but he knew 
that Monita longed to see her father. " We are to have 
a corn-dance at San Juan soon," he said; "tell Koba 
he had better come to it." As he spoke, he readjusted 
his head-coverhig, giving the two pointed ends the 
appearance of a pair of lop ears, and finishing his 
speech with a sharp, wolfish yelp. The silversmith un- 
derstood by this pantomime that Pope wished Koba to 
be as wary and sly as a coyote. 

The Captain had been invited to dine with his friend 
Don Augustin Flores Vergara, the agent of the Marques 
de la Penuela, who lived in a house which still exists 
near the church of San Miguel ; and as they took their 
siesta after the meal, they talked together of dear Spain 
and of the uneasy life which a pioneer leads. " There 
is a fire of rebellion smouldering among the Indians," 
said Don Augustin ; " a very little would serve to fan it 
into a blaze. We are living on a volcano. I would 
not stay, were it not to aid the good missionary fathers, 
who are heroes, and would be martyrs did we suffer 
them. I have heard of silver mines to the south, and 
I mean to discover them and to aid my master the 
Marques in his plan of building churches and cathedrals 
here as noble as those in Spain." 

Silver mines, silver mines I everywhere the rumor of 
them was in the air ; surely the discovery was not far 
distant : he must not delay. And while his host slept, 
dreaming of what he would do for Christ and the padres, 
Captain Zufiiga seized a pen and wrote two letters, — 



116 GREAT-GRANDMOTHEK'S GIRLS. 

one to the Count de Montezuma, telling him that the 
conditions which he had named were almost won ; and 
the other to Dona Geronima, wooing her in earnest if 
in uncultured language. He explained to her as he did 
to her father, under admonitions to the strictest secrecy, 
that the Indians were waiting her coming, and that 
they expected a new reign of peace and happiness which 
should be inaugurated by her. Some inspiration bade 
him expand upon the good which she might do ; and 
this power to do good — the noblest ambition of noble 
minds — was the temptation which he spread before 
her. 



CHAPTER Vn. 

THE SILVER MINES. 

All day for another he toils ; 

Over-wearied at night he lies down 

And dreams of a freedom that once he enjoyed. 

Thou wert blest in the days of thy youth, 

My father, for then thou wert free ; 

And when with the song and the dance 

Ye brought the harvest home, 

As all in the labor had shared, 

So justly they shared in the fruits. 

SouTHEY : The Peruvian's Dirge. 

The question was settled. Monita had recovered 
sufficiently to bear the journey, and she would go to 
Spain. Her mother and Pope were delighted with this 
decision ; but it must be explained that they had no 
conception of the distance. To them Spain lay some- 
where in the direction of Mexico, and they fancied that 
Monita would return within the year. 

Fray Ignacio had explained that the people in Spain 
were not like cruel Captain Zuniga and his horde of 
soldiers, — they were kindly disposed to the Indians, and 
did not desire their enslavement, but their salvation ; 
and it was for this cause that they had sent out mis- 
sionaries and colonists. That Captain Zuniga was a 
bad man was not a proof that all Spaniards were like 
him ; he was only an unfortunate exception to the 
general rule. Monita believed the good padre firmly. 



118 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

She longed to see more of Spaniards who were, like him, 
the friends of the Indian. Popj was less credulous. 
Of the white men whom he knew, the great majority 
were cruel ; but as Fray Ignacio had assured him that 
those holding supreme authority in Spain were all good 
and kind men, who had made laws most beneficial to the 
Indians, and as Fray Ignacio had Avritten a letter to liis 
Superior, as well as the one to his friend, which he had 
read to them, and which Monita was to carry, telling 
of the abuses practised in New Mexico, Pope felt that 
her going was likely to result in the general weal of the 
pueblo, as well as in Monita's complete restoration to 
health. 

The annual harvest-dance occurred just before she 
departed. Captain Zuiiiga had been wise enough to 
allow the Indians to keep up the old custom, a suppres- 
sion of which might have instigated a general revolt. 
Fray Ignacio had utilized it to the best of his ability, 
engrafting some of the ceremonies of the Church upon 
the old pagan rites, and endeavoring to make it a 
celebration of the festival of Saint Joseph, on whose 
fete-day it happened to occur. He began the day by 
calling them all to earl}' Mass with a louder clangor of 
the bells than usual. Then he himself headed the pro- 
cession with his troop of altar-boys ; and it was indeed 
an incongruous sight to see the 

" Six little singing-boys, dear little sonls, 
With nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, 
In order due, two by two 
Marching the long refec'tory through," 

at the head of the savagely painted band of dancers. 
Monita limped along for the last time with her con- 



THE SILVER MINES. 121 

fr.'^es. In the plaza an arbor had been built of pin- 
yon-branches thatched with corn-stalks fresh from the 
field, with the ears of corn upon them ; for this was 
their Thanksgiving Day, — a sort of harvest-home 
which has been celebrated by pagans as well as by 
Christians from time immemorial, God having planted 
some dumb feeling of thankfulness for his bounty in 
the hearts of even the savage. 

In the arbor the children of the choir arranged the 
images and pictures brought from tlie church. Saint 
Joseph for once had the place of honor, his spouse, the 
Virgin of Guadalupe, taking a more humble station 
upon the ground. Bread was piled with melons and 
peaches, and the aged and honored members of the 
tribe took seats along the sides of the arbor. Then 
the common people swarmed in, and soup was passed 
around, after which the fruit was served, and then the 
dance took place. 

The Spaniards occupied the terraces and roofs of the 
houses, watching the proceedings with interest ; and 
nearly every Indian man, woman, and child took part 
in the first dance, which somewhat resembled a Vir- 
ginia reel, — having this difference, that the woman 
must always keep her face to the back of her partner. 
Monita was usually one of the most active of the dancers; 
but she sat now a little apart in the corn-stalk arbor, 
watching Pope's agile movements with keen apprecia- 
tion. When the general dance was over, Simon Magus, 
with some of the other medicine-men, came from the 
estufa, or underground council-chamber, and performed 
the cold-weather dance, indicating by expressive panto- 
mime the approach of winter. First they harvested 



122 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

imaginary crops, then they hewed wood, piled it on 
each other's shoulders, brought it from the forest, built 
a great bonfire, and warmed themselves about it. All 
this was done in pantomime. 

Next on the programme was a rain-dance. Six 
images of unbaked clay, representing two bears, a deer, 
two rabbits, and a wolf, were placed by Simon Magus 
in the centre of the plaza. The people danced about 
them, sprinkling them with prayer-meal, until certain 
painted dancers, among whom Monita recognized 
Pope, rushed forward and shot the images. Then 
Simon Magus, with other medicine-men, took up the 
fragments of the images tenderly and made great 
mourning over them ; and the strange ceremonial was 
ended. 

Just what this had to do with rain, Fray Ignacio was 
at a loss to understand ; but there was much in the 
ceremonials of the Indians which was a sealed book to 
him, and he strove rather to make them understand his 
religion than to penetrate the mysteries of theirs. He 
was thankful that they had no rites so revolting as the 
snake-dance of the Moquis or the snake-worship of 
Gran Quivira. 

Then a hunting-dance was performed. Pope, wdth a 
skin thrown over him, taking the part of a bear. 
After the dance was over he threw himself at Monita's 
feet, tired and panting, looking up at her with eyes hun- 
gry, as she thought, for a word of praise. She gave it 
liberally, and added, " We will dance together when I 
come back." Pope nodded solemnly, but continued his 
earnest gaze. She turned aside after a while, half 
comprehending the look; and a few moments later 




OBTAINING PULQUE FROM THE MAGUEY-PLANT. 



THE SILVER MINES. 125 

Fray Ignacio led his followers from the plaza. Pulque, 
an intoxicating drink obtained from the maguey-plant, 
was being passed round; and the good padre knew 
that the dances would now become more fast and 
furious than he could countenance. 

That night, as Monita lay in her hammock and 
looked out through the wide arches at the moonlight 
flooding the cloister garden, she saw a dark head and 
shoulders appear above the wall ; and an Indian drew 
himself silently up, and dropping in a pawpaw-tree 
which grew near, slipped to the ground. 

Instantly the girl sprang from her hammock and 
glided along the corridor, intending to alarm Fray 
Ignacio. Turnmg for one more glance before she 
tapped upon the priest's window, she saw Pope stand- 
ing with folded arms beside the sun-dial in the centre 
of the garden. Coming to him, she told him laughingly 
of her fright. " You were so tall in the moonlight. 
Pope," she said, "that I thought you were a man." 

Pope drew himself up until he seemed still taller. 
"I am a man," he cried passionately, throwing his 
arms about her, — - " a man who loves you." 

Monita did not withdraw from his caress. " I love 
you too," she replied simply. 

"And yet you are going far away to-morrow." 

" If you would rather I should not go, I will stay, 
Pope." 

" No, Monita. go, and be entirely cured ; but when 
you can dance and climb again, come back to Pope." 
He took a necklace of turquoise beads from his neck 
and threw it over her head. " You are my prisoner," 
he said, smiling. 



126 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

" You Lave been to the quarries again ; and how 
long it must have taken jou to drill all those holes ! 
Fray Ignacio said that the stones would pale and crum- 
ble when the giver was ill or in danger, so I shall 
know of your health while I am in Spain." 

" And I will look every day at the turquoises in the 
silver cup to know how you are," the youth replied. 
Just then the priest, disturbed by the voices, struck 
a light ; and Pope, throwing himself on the ground, 
wriggled away behind a bed of sweet herbs. 

Monita came forward and met the priest as he came 
to the door with a candle. " It was I, Fray Ignacio," 
she said, " bidding good-bye to the garden and to my 
old life." She paused a moment, and the priest's glance 
rested on her so confidingly that she could not deceive 
him. '' And to Pope," she added. 

"Has Pope been here?" Fray Ignacio asked with 
surprise. '' Why should he steal in at night like a 
robber when the garden is open to him all day ? " 

Monita did not reply, and the good padre shook his 
head. " Ah, well ! perhaps it is time you went to 
Spain, if you are going at all. You are growing too 
tall for an altar-boy." 

Koba the silversmith had not come to the harvest- 
dance ; and leaving a farewell for him with her mother, 
the next morning the priest placed Monita on his mule 
Peloncillo, and set out with her for Santa Fc. It was 
hardly a day's journey, and it was no great hardship to 
walk by her side. Pope ran on in advance, pausing 
now and then to allow them to overtake him. 

Santa Fe seemed a great city to the two young peo- 
ple. The square with the long row of low buildings, 




INDIANS OF OTIIEK AND WILDP:R TRIBP:S. 



THE SILVER MINES. 1^29 

the Governor's palace, the barracks for the troops, the 
church, so much larger than their chapel at San Juan, 
all excited their wonder and admiration. Pop;' exam- 
ined the fortihcations and guns with great interest. 
The enormous cannon, with lion's heads and the arms 
of Spam sculptured upon them, filled him with such 
dismay when they were lired at sunset that he turned 
as nearly pale as it is possible for an Indian to do. 
Just such guns may be seen on the parade-ground at 
the Naval School at Annapolis, captured during the 
Mexican War by General Scott, and possibly brought 
into the country by Cortez himself. 

The convoy was to start for Mexico on the morrow, 
and as Pope had told him that the mines were in the 
direction of their march. Fray Ignacio determined to 
accompany it part way. Monita now had a seat in one 
of the lumbering wagons, and Fray Ignacio once more 
bestrode Peloncillo. 

They followed the valley of the Rio Grande, the 
Organ Mountains rising in weirdly sculptured forms 
on the left. Sometimes other Indians of wilder tribes 
than the Pueblos would appear in the distance, and 
approach to stare at the strange cavalcade. After a 
time they left the river and entered upon the Jornada 
del Muerto, or Death Journey, — a desert of eighty miles, 
hemmed in by distant mountains of grotesque shape, 
cut and crossed by gullies and canons, but treeless and 
waterless, and dreary to the last degree. They carried 
water with them in pig-skins for themselves and their 
animals, or they would assuredly have perished with 
thirst. And yet the leader of the party asserted that 
this was an old trail to Mexico, well travelled before 



130 



GKEAT-GKANDMOTllEH'iS GIKLS. 



the Conquerors set foot in the country, as there had 
been frequent communication between the Pueblos and 
the Aztecs. 

For two days Fray Ignacio accompanied the party ; 
but on the third, Pope made him a significant signal, 
and they bade a final farewell to Monita, who wept 




THE DREAKY PLAIN BKSET WITU ALOES. 



much, despite her natural Indian reserve, at parting 
from her friends. Pope sat down, and disconsolately 
watched the caravan move slowly through the dreary 
plain, beset at this point with aloes, whose sharp, scythe- 
shaped bayonets had a menacing look, as though even 
Nature herself had turned against him. 



THE SILVER MINES. 131 

After the procession had faded out of sight the boy 
sprang to his feet, and motioning Fray Ignacio to fol- 
low, led the way to a canon which showed itself at 
some distance only as a crack in the earth. Down this 
they plunged. It grew deeper with every step, and 
wound so frequently that Fray Ignacio speedil}- lost all 
idea of the direction in which he was journeying. 
Down, down, Peloncillo keeping her footing along a 
mere crumbling shelf, and at times sliding down a slip- 
pery bank to the bottom of the ravine where trickled 
a little stream. They crossed and recrossed this a 
number of times, and at length found tliemselves at 
the entrance of a cave or tunnel. Here Fray Ignacio 
fastened his mule, and Pope, rummaging in the inte- 
rior, found and lighted a torch. Following this, the 
priest proceeded into the cavern, which led for a long 
distance straight into the earth. After a time they be- 
gan to descend by stairways cut in the rock, and by 
rude ladders from one chamber and gallery to another. 
It was evidently an abandoned mine, worked long ago 
by some unknown race, — probably tributary to Monte- 
zuma ; and much of that monarch's wealth may have 
been drawn from its veins. Suddenly an answering 
torch was seen at a little distance below them, and 
Pope stopped instantly. Fray Ignacio thought that there 
were other explorers in advance of them ; but Pope re- 
peated the word "' agua," and the padre saw that what 
he had mistaken for another torch was really the re- 
flection of Pope's in a black lake, on whose margin 
they stood. The reason for the abandonment of the 
mine was now explained. It had become flooded by 
the striking of a spring ; but in the lapse of years the 



132 GREAT-GRANDMOTIIER'S (URLS. 

waters liad found an outlet and liad settled. Popi', 
after searching for a few moments, discovered a canoe ; 
and seating Fray Ignaeio in the stern and giving liini 
the torch to hold, he paddled straight forward into the 
darkness. Presently the boat grated on a rocky shore ; 
and springing out, lie led the priest up another rude 
staircase, down which trickled a stream which still fed 
the lake, into a chamber which had evidently been the 
last worked. The stream had been tapped at the time 
of the mine's greatest success, for it bubbled now from 
a crevice in the back of the cavern, just under a vein of 
virgin silver. Pope lifted his torch, and the light was 
reflected back from masses of native silver. He took 
up a stone axe and a copper chisel, and proceeded to 
break off large portions of the metal, which Fray 
Ignaeio picked up, gathering his gown into a great bag 
or pocket in order to hold them. 

"Does any one else know of the existence of this 
mine besides yourself ? " asked Fray Ignaeio after a 
little of his surprise had passed away. 

''Yes," replied Pop'; ''the secret is shared by the 
silversmiths of the different pueblos. They all send 
here for their material ; there is enough for them all." 

Enough for all ! most assuredly it seemed that 
there was. The vein was of extraordinary size, and 
gave every appearance of running far back into the 
bowels of the earth. From it might be taken just such 
" planchas de plata," weighing a ton each, as were 
taken before and after this time from the mines of 
northern Mexico.' 

^ Mr. Fi'ederick A. Ober states : " Tlic ValentMana, a mine of (luanajuato. 
in its best (hrvs yieldi-d annually seven hundred tlu)Msand /iKiKlrci/ircii/lils of 




MINES WORKED LONG AGO BY SOME UNKNOWN RACE. 



THE SILVER MINES. 135 

Having availed themselves of as much as they could 
carry they emerged from the mine ; and tying their 
treasure in Pope's blanket, threw it over the padre's 
mule and began the ascent of the canon. This was 
accomplished with great labor, Pope leading the way 
and pulling Peloncillo by the halter, Fray Ignacio 
stumbling after and assisting himself by holding on to 
the animal's tail. Just before they reached the sum- 
mit a loud shout rang out. and they found themselves 
face to face with Captain Zuuiga and several of his 
men, who had begun the descent of the narrow trail, 
while the plain above swarmed with Spaniards. The 
wall of the canon on either hand, above and below him, 
was at this point a sheer precipice, the mule and Fray 
Ignacio blocked his retreat ; and Pope saw that he was 
trapped. In the hope of still concealing their errand, 
he threw the blanket of silver from the mule's back 
down the precipice. He was too late ; the action was 
observed. 

Having dragged Pope, unresisting, to the surface of 
the plain, Captain Zufiiga sent one of his followers to 
the bottom of the canon to obtain the mule's burden. 
It needed not this circumstantial evidence, however, to 
inform the Captain. Just after Fray Ignacio had set 
out for Santa Fe with Monita and Pope, Koba, having 
heard that his daughter was to be sent to Spain, ar- 
rived in San Juan, having risked his life to bid her 
farewell. Captain Zuiiiga, who had only bided his 

ore. From Los Ray as the King's fifth alone was 817,365,000. From the 
mine of El Carmen, in the State of Sonora, was taken a lump of pure 
silver weighing two thousand seven hundred pounds. It is estimated on 
good authority that Mexico has produced up to the year 1884, $4,000,000,000 
in silver 1 " 



136 GREAT-GRANDMOTHERS GIRLS. 

timej seized the unfortunate silversmith and had him 
put to the torture to reveal the whereabouts of the 
mines. Koba's desire for wealth was solely for the 
sake of his daughter ; and believing, in spite of his wife's 
assurance of her speedy return, that Monita wda now 
lost to him forever, to escape furtlier pain he readily 
promised to guide the Captain to the silver district. 
The Captain brought with him the greater part of liis 
entire force, for he imagined that he might have to 
fight for the possession of the mines. He was greatly 
surprised at meeting Fray Ignacio. and naturally much 
incensed at what he regarded as a breach of confidence 
on his part. Words ran high between them, for the 
padre for once forgot his meekness, and roundly as- 
serted that the Captain had no right to take forcible 
possession of the mine. Captain Zuniga dared not kill 
the padre, as he would have preferred ; and so he con- 
tented himself with venting liis spite upon Pope, caus- 
ing him to be bound, and saying that as he had shown 
such a liking for the mine, he should have enough 
of it. 

His threat was carried presently into execution. 
The Captain immediately established a well-fortified 
hacienda at this point. Gangs of Indians were told 
oK from the pueblo to labor in the mine and in the 
silver works. Pope was sent to the deepest shaft of 
the mine, to labor there for .the rest of his life, with- 
out a hope of ever seeing again the sun which the 
religion of his fathers had taught him to worship. 

Captain Zuniga had intended to reward Koba for 
showing him the silver mine with a like fate ; but in 
the confusion that reigned during the first months he 




X 

o 



THE SILVER MINES. 139 

managed to escape, and passing from pueblo to pueblo, 
informed the silversmiths of the misfortune which had 
befallen them. The silversmiths were an influential 
class ; and this act of injustice, combined with many 
others of like character which the Spaniards of the 
different pueblos were perpetrating, served to fan the 
flame of revolt which was slowly kindling all about 
them. 

In the mean time Monita was continuing her journey 
with a serene and happy heart, for the turquoise talis- 
man lay upon it ; and as she kissed the beads each night, 
she slept peacefully, assured by their unaltered color 
that all was well with her beloved. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

IN SEVILLE. 

In the plaza I bear the sounds 

Of guitar and Castanet : 

Although it is early yet, 
The dancers are on their rounds. 

Softly the sunlight falls 

On the slim Giralda tower 

That now peals forth the hour 
O'er broken ramparts and walls. 

Ah, what glory and gloom 

In this Arab-Spanish town ! 

What masonry, golden brown. 
And hung with tendril and bloom 

Place of forgotten kings I 

With fountains that never play, 
And gardens where, day by day, 

The lonely cicada sings. 

Traces are everywhere 

Of the dusky race that came 
And passed like a sudden flame, 

Leaving their sighs in the air. 

T. B. Aldrich. 

A CHOKING feeling of homesickness came over Monita 
as she parted from Fray Ignacio and Pope ; but she was 
young and hopeful, and she looked forward with cheer- 
ful expectation, born half of ignorance and half of 
a sunny, trustful disposition, to the unknown future. 



IN SEVILLE. 



141 



Her journey through Mexico proved to be a great 
wonder to her. Having once quitted the Jornado del 
Muerto, the vegetation became more luxuriant. Strange 
flowers and plants appeared, — red cardinal flowers, yel- 
low jessamine, heliotropes, passion-vines, 
the melon and organ cactus, different 
varieties of the aloe growing in hedges^ 




OXE OF THE CANALS. 



which with their tall flower-stalks resembled proces- 
sions of altar-boys bearing branching candelabra and 
crosses. The Indians whom they met spoke a lan- 
guage different from that of the Pueblos ; every- 
thing was new and strange. This novelty increased 
as the little cavalcade entered the city of Mexico. 
Monita had never imagined a city so large and so 
magnificent. The ancient home of Montezuma resem- 



142 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

bled the city of Venice in being built upon several 
islands, with canals for many of its streets. The lake 
which once surrounded it has disappeared, and only 
some of the principal canals remain. Down these wa- 
tery streets Monita and the other Pueblo children were 
taken to the Indian quarter. Here the merchant under 
whose care they had been placed knocked at the door 
of a modest little building whose only distinguishing 
mark was a niche over the door containing an image 
with a lantern swinging in front of it. A sweet-faced 
woman in a coarse habit of serge, with a rope girdle, 
opened the door and received them graciously. This 
was Sister Jesusa ; and as she led the way, Monita 
noticed that though the floor was paved with rough 
flagging, she was barefooted, and her feet were swollen 
and blistered. She was a Santa Clara nun ; and four of 
these devoted women had formed a little community, 
whose aim it was to keep a hospice, or house of enter- 
tainment, for poor travellers, and to teach the Indian 
children. They had a large school, for the Indians loved 
them and had gathered together from all the country 
round to celebrate with songs and dances the opening 
of their house, which had been given them by a generous 
lady. 

Monita's hope that the Spaniards were like Fray 
Ignacio, and not like Captain Zuniga, was greatly 
strengthened while she remained at the hospice of 
Santa Clara. Sister Jesusa tokl her that as soon as 
their Order became more numerous they intended to 
send a deputation of sisters to the northern pueblos 
to teach the Indian girls. While here, Monita wrote a 
letter to her mother and Pope, in care of Fray Ignacio, 



IN SEVILLE. ' 145 

telliny: them of all the wonderful siprhts which h;i(l so 
much impressed her. 

Much was being done in Mexico at this time for the 
Indians. The good Luis de Velasco, second viceroy^ 
had a century before emancipated one hundred and 
fifty thousand Indians who had been held as slaves by 
the Spaniards ; and when told that this act would 
destroy the mining industry of the province, he replied : 
" The liberty of the Indians is of more importance than 
the mines of the whole world." Public sentiment 
among the enlightened, the truly Christian and benevo- 
lent, was then, as to-day, in favor of a humane treatment 
of the Indians. But unprincipled adventurers, hard, 
reckless men, whose crimes had banished them from 
society, are always to be found upon the frontier ; and 
these, restrained by no fear of God and bevond the reach 
of the arm of the law, oppressed and enslaved, defrauded 
and murdered the Indians as they have continued to do, 
to the perennial disgrace of our own fair Republic. 

There were many religious Orders now in Mexico ; 
new churches and convents were springing up in the 
city and in the towns of the province. Everywhere 
Monita had been struck with the difference between 
their florid architecture and the plainness of the Mis- 
sions. The magnificence impressed her, — the ceremo- 
nials, the music, tlie pictures. It was all so beautiful, 
so new and strange. She heard here more of Monte- 
zuma, and what she heard confused while it interested 
her. She was told that he was the last of the Aztec or 
Mexican kings, who had maintained such a brave fight 
against Cortez and the first Spaniards. She saw the 
palace in which Cortez had lived, which occupied the 



146 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

site of Monteziiina's, and she heard to her sui'i)iise that 
tlie descendants of Montezuma were living in Spain. 

Spain I Where then was Spain? Slie had not ima- 
gined that it was so far away as this. Could the world 
be wider still ? The wonder and awe were just begin- 
ning to wear off, she had begun to feel at home with 
the gentle nuns of Santa Claia, who had dressed her 
neatly and had given her a fine crutch in the place 
of the clumsy one which Fray Ignacio had made, wdien 
the announcement came that the party was now made 
up, and the ship waiting for them at Vera Cruz. 

What an experience was that long crossing ! She 
was deathly sea-sick the greater part of the time, and 
there were none of the conveniences which now make 
the ocean passage so luxurious ; but Monita was used 
to privation and pain, and as the illness passed, her 
buoyant heart rose once more, and she looked with envy 
and interest at the sailors climbing about amid the 
rigging. If she wei-e only quite right, she felt sure she 
could out-climb them all. Then she looked at the wide 
expanse of water all around, and wondered where the 
world had gone, — if the Indies had not l)een over- 
whelmed by some great ilood while she lay unconscious ; 
and when reassured on this point, was still puzzled 
as to how the ship-master knew his way across this 
great water-desert, where the travellers left no trail. 

At length the ship sailed up the beautiful Guadal- 
quivir and anchored at the city of Seville ; and Monita 
was told that this was Spain. Seville was at this time 
at its wealthiest, — a great commercial port ; and the 
masts in the river made a forest as far as the eye 
could reach. It was night when they left the ship. 



IN SEVILLE. 



147 



iind the priest to whose care they were intrusted led 
the Indian girls through the streets to the house of 
a wealthy gentleman, where they were to be lodged 
temporarily. 

The streets were full of 
lauohino'. g-audily dressed 
people. Beautiful la- 
dies, with lace mantillas 
thrown over their 
shapely heads, languidly 
toying with their yellow 
fans ; iirav gallants in 
bright satin and velvet 
suits, walking elbow 
against elbow while they 
strummed their guitars : 
fat priests in long, skiff- 
shaped hats ; water-car- 
riers ; fruit-sellers ; and 
gayly caparisoned don- 
keys crowded the narrow 
thoroughfares. Pres- 

ently the party came 
out upon a wider street, 
and Monita saw before 
her the shadowy mass of 
the great cathedral, and 
beside it, risins; mvste- 
rious in the moonliglit, 
the beautiful shaft of 

the Giralda, — that noblest of bell-towers. Far up 
on the summit swings the vane, — a female figure in 




THK BEAL'TIFIIL SHAFT OF THK 
GIRALDA. 



148 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

bronze, poised so skilfully that it veers with the slight- 
est breeze. " Is it an angel ? " asked Monita. 

"No," replied the priest; '' it is a statue which we 
call Faith." 

" Then the faith of the Spaniard moves easily," said 
Monita. 

"■Ah, yes!" laughed the priest; "they worshipped 
Jupiter here in ancient times, and not so long ago the 
Moors, who built that tower, followed the faith of Ma- 
homet. Now we pray to Mary the blessed ; but who 
knows which way the next breeze may turn us ? " 

They were entertained, by a rich gentleman of the 
Kibera famil}', in a beautiful house called the Casa de 
Pilatos because it was built in imitation of the house of 
Pontius Pilate at Jerusalem, — an ancestor of the owner 
having performed the pilgrimage to the Holy Land. 
The splendid tiles, the lace-like tracery of the wood- 
work, the coats-of-arms, the marbles and paintings, 
made this wealthy house the most magnificent private 
residence which Monita had ever seen. But she felt 
herself lonely and alien in the midst of it all, and 
longed for the pueblo with its simple pleasures and 
homely fare. The ladies of the house came and looked 
at the childi-en as though they were wild animals of 
some show, and made remarks upon them, part of 
which Monita understood very well. They were then 
sent to the kitchen to undergo the same scrutiny from 
the domestics ; but here they were fed with plenty of 
savory soup and bread, and presently they were shown 
to comfortable beds, into which Monita was glad to 
■creep, for the marble floor seemed to heave and sway 
'with a motion like tliat of the ship. Add to this, for 




" r.EAUTTFUL LADIES AND GAY GALLANTS IN SATIN AND VKLVKT." 



m SEVILLE. 151 

the first time she was genuinely homesick. She real- 
ized now the iuiniense distance and the great watery 
horror which separated her from her home ; yet she 
would gladly have embarked at once if an opportunity 
had been given her to return : but she had a mission to 
perform first. Fray Ignacio's letter must be delivered, 
and she must see Our Lady del Pilar and beg her to 
cure her lameness. The captain of the ship had said 
that he should sail again for America in a month, and 
she hoped that she might accomplish both of her objects 
in that time. 

The next morning the Senora Ribera again came into 
the court to see the young Indian girls. She was a 
woman who liked the reputation of being charitable, 
and the friar had told her that these girls were going 
to a convent in Madrid, where they were to be brought 
to the notice of the Court, in the hope of interesting 
the wealthy and influential in the American missions. 
Each child would be supported at the charge of some 
lady patroness, and Senora Ribera had decided that it 
would be well to have her name figure at the head of 
this list ; it was for her now to make her choice of a 
protegee. She found the selection ditficult. Tbis one 
was sulky and silent ; that was pock-marked and ugly ; 
another was slovenly, another stupid ; and so one by 
one all were rejected but a very pretty little Aztec and 
Monita. 

" I like the lame girl," she thought ; " it is pathetic 
to be lame. But every one will want that pretty child. 
Which shall I take ? " 

The pretty girl decided it. While the senora was 
considering, the Aztec saw a tempting pomegranate in 



152 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

a dish on the table, and slyly appropriated it. Senora 
Ribera saw the action. "' I do not want a thief," she 
thought, and she began to converse with Monita. '^ Why 
did yon come to Spain?" she asked, not expecting an 
intelligent reply. 

'' To visit the shrine of Our Lady del Pilar," Monita 
replied ; '" can the senora tell me where I can find it ?" 

'* It is at Zaragoza," replied the lady. " The good 
friar tells me that you are not going there at present, 
but to Madrid. You must not be self-willed. Zaragoza 
is a long way from Madrid ; it is not at all convenient 
to send you there." 

A long way from Madrid. — perhaps farther than 
Mexico I Monita's heart sank, and the tears welled to 
her eyes ; but she plucked up courage to try to do her 
friend's errand, and to ask the lady if she knew Don 
Jose Sarmiento Valladares, for whom she had brought 
a letter from Fray Ignacio. 

'• I know of him," said the lady, '" as a courtier much 
favored by the King, and said to be deeply versed in the 
law. He had an apartment at the Alcazar when the 
Court was here at Seville, and it may be that he is still, 
there, though the King is at Madrid. At all events we 
can incpiire, and I will take you there this afternoon." 

The })riest told Monita that she was very fortunate. 
Doiia Ribera was much pleased with her ; perhaps she 
would become her patroness. 

The Alcazar was a beautiful palace, built by the 
Moorish workmen in the style of the Alhambra, and 
decorated by the very artists who made the wonderful 
palace at Granada such a dream of beauty. Although 
royalty was not present, a number of noble families 



IN SEVILLE. 155 

still occupied apartments in the great building, and the 
senora led Monita from one brilliant salon to another. 
Slender pillars upheld horseshoe arches, and these led 
the eye to vaulted ceilings, where domes broke from 
domes like intersecting soap-bubbles, and the stalactite 
stucco dropped its prisms of vivid color. All this lace- 
work was brilliantly colored, and arabesque patterns in 
gold w^ere interlaced with texts fi'om the Koran and 
intricate strap-work in blue and red and green. Mo- 
nita's eyes were dazzled and fatigued ; it was like look- 
ing for a long time through a kaleidoscope. The 
senora inquired here and there, and still led her on. 
At lengtli she turned to the child and informed her 
that the Seiior Valladares was not in Seville, having 
accompanied the King when he left the city. '^' But 
give me the letter," she continued, '' and I will give it 
to him upon his return." 

This seemed to Monita the only thing to be done ; 
and yet, as the senora's hand closed upon it, a dim 
idea that this was not the best way to fulfil Fray Igna- 
cio's trust dawned upon her, and she urged the senora 
to give it to the senor at her earliest opportunity. 

"Certainly, child," replied the lady; ''and now go 
into the garden and amuse yourself while I make one 
more call." 

In reality Senora Ribera was consumed with curiosity 
to see what the message could be which this little 
Indian girl was bringing to so distinguished a gentle- 
man as Senor Valladares. She therefore sought a se- 
cluded corridor, and in an alcoved window proceeded 
to open and read the epistle. If it stated that the 
child was of rank m her own country, or even recom- 



156 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

mended her to the sefior's particular attention, Senora 
Ribera decided that she would take her under her own 
care. She was therefore not a little disappointed to 
find that there was no allusion whatever to Monita in 
the letter, which was taken up entirely with legal 
questions as to the rights of .the first discoverers to 
silver mines, and an entreaty that Valladares, as a 
lawyer, would give the beneht of his counsel to the. 
securing to the Church of certain properties in New 
Mexico. All this seemed to the lady of very little con- 
sequence. It would l)e a kindness to Seiior Valladares 
not to send the letter to him, as if he took the trouble 
to pay any attention to it whatever, it could only bore 
him. She refolded and tied it, deciding to lay it aside 
until she should happen to meet the senor on his next 
coming to Seville, when she would tell him about it if 
on the whole it seemed best to do so. 

Meanwhile Monita wandered about in the garden, 
— one of the most beautiful in the world. Here were 
tropical plants, many of them familiar to her, for they 
had been brought from Mexico to please the fastidious 
fancy of Charles V., for whom it had been laid out, — 
palms and roses, oleanders, hydrangeas, ferns, beds of 
violets, vines clambering over the kiosks, and water- 
lilies in the tanks. Everywhere was the sound of 
water trickling, bubbling, flashing, rippling ; but to 
Monita the fountains were all sobbing and weeping 
with just the sound with which her mother had wept 
all one night after it was decided that she should go 
away to Spain. She felt very desolate here in this 
paradise, and wandered idly about, wishing that she 
could spy an evening-primrose among the flowers. 




IN MURILLO'S STUDIO. 



IN SEVILLE. 15& 

Presently slie entered a little allee between two closely 
clipped box-hedges which rose just above her head. 
She followed its turnings for some time, wondering 
whither it might lead. She seemed to be going round 
a plat, and from tlie centre came again the sound of 
falling water. A fountain was there, and as she was 
thirsty she determined to find it. Now and then more 
than one opening perplexed her as to which direction 
she ought to take. Though she walked on and on, 
she seemed to be drawing no nearer to the fountain, 
and after a time she gave up the quest and decided to- 
re turn to the open garden. Again she took a wrong 
turning, and found herself more confused than ever. 
Without knowing it, she was in Charles V.'s famous 
maze, which few have unravelled without help. Tired 
out at length, she sat down and burst into tears. Was 
all her life to be just such a maze, — an aimless walking 
between walls which shut her closely in and kept her 
from accomplishing what she wished ? Fray Ignacio 
had told her when in trouble to call upon the Virgin of 
Guadalupe, and she now invoked her help. Strength- 
ened and calmed b}' her prayer, she boldly pushed her 
way through the liedge, and presently found herself 
outside the labyrinth. But where was Senora Ribera ? 
Monita entered the palace by a door which resembled 
the one from which she had come, and wandered along 
the corridors looking- into the various apartments. 

" Our Lad}' of Guadalupe heard me just now," she 
thought. '• when I was lost in the garden. I wonder 
if she is somewheie in this beautiful house. Surely 
it is too handsome for an}' one else to live in. Oh that 
she were only here, and would take me to Our Lady del 



160 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

Pilar, and that she would cure my lameness and let me 
go back again to San Juan I " Monita heard some one 
speaking behind a half-open door, and she entered a large 
room strangely appointed. Pictures on large c;invases 
of angels and saints rested upon easels or stood against 
the wall. Siie recognized that these were only pic- 
tures ; but at the end of the room on a raised dais or 
platform stood a living lad}' dressed like Our Lady of 
Guadalupe in the picture in the little chapel at home, 
— in a rich brocade with a dark-blue velvet mantle 
studded with golden stars, thrown overhead, which was 
surmounted with a golden crown. Her little hands were 
folded in the same attitude, and she had the same sweet 
smile as the Virgin at San Juan ; and Monita did not 
doubt that this was in very deed the gracious lady 
whom she had been taught to revere. She threw her- 
self at her feet and burst into a passion of supplication 
in the Indian lano:uao;e, telliny: her all of her loneliness 
and trouble, and begging her favor. 

The lady smiled, and extended her hand ; at the same 
time a gentleman, holding a palette and brushes, stepped 
from behind one of the canvases. 

" Who is she ? What can she want ? " he asked. 

" She is evidently an Indian girl," replied the lady. 
" I heard that several had ari'ived in the city. I wish 
that I could understand what she savs. I ought to, for 
you know that I am part Indian." 

The idea that the Yii-giu of (4uadalupe, the patroness 
of the Indians, could not understand their language, 
was a severe blow to Monita ; but she repeated her 
petitions in the best Spanish which she could nmster. 

" My poor girl," replied the lady, "you are greatly 




MOXITA IN THE (iAKDKN. 



IN SEVILLE. 163 

mistaken. I am not the blessed Madonna for whom 
you evidently take me. I am only a maiden like your- 
self. My name is Maria Geronima Montezuma. These 
are my parents' apartments, in which my father has 
fitted up a studio so that this good gentleman can 
paint my portrait without the necessity of my going 
every day to his house ; and in return for his kind- 
ness in coming to us they have allowed him to paint 
from me a picture of the Madonna for himself. This 
is why you see me dressed in this way ; and if it had 
been the picture and not I which deceived you, 1 
could not have wondered, for every one says that Seilor 
Bartolome Estevan Murillo paints the Madonna as 
though he had seen her in a heavenly vision." 

Monita was more dazed than before. She understood, 
however, that this was not Our Lady of Guadalupe, and 
tears of disappointment stole down her cheeks. She 
was walking in a series of enchantments, and it seemed 
to her that some unseen Power was making sport of her 
bewilderment. The lady, however, was very gentle and 
loving, and asked her many questions about Mexico. 

"I have told you that I am part Indian myself," she 
said ; " but I have never been in Mexico, though I 
sometimes think that I should like to go ; and I have a 
distant cousin there now who would like to persuade 
me to live there, saying that I could do much good to 
the Indians, — so that perchance I shall go one of these 
fine days." 

"' Oh, noble lady," besought Monita, " you look so 
kind and sweet, I beg of you to go to our pueblo and 
help the poor Indians ! " 

" My cousin must have sent you to plead his cause," 



164 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

laughed the young lady. " No, I shall not go just at 
present, for my father will not allow it until he hears 
for certain about some silver mines which my cousin 
thinks he is on the track of discovering. And for my 
part, I hope he may not discover them at present, for 
I have no serious mind to go, — at least not to him." 

The painter now asked some questions, among others 
how it was that she, an Indian girl, should have known 
enough of Our Lady to recognize her in his sitter. 
Monita told him of the picture of the Virgin in the 
chapel. 

''It is very likely one of mine," said Murillo ; "for 
before I became known I made my living by painting 
altar-pieces, some of which went to South America and 
the Indies." 

Monita was a little confused by the familiar way in 
which the painter spoke of painting Madonnas. " I 
thought," she replied," '' that our picture of the Virgin 
of Guadalupe was painted directly from the Blessed 
Lady herself." 

Senor Murillo laughed, but checked himself. " If 
my models were always as saintly as the one from 
whom I have now the honor of painting," he said gal- 
lantly, " your notion would not have been so far wrong; 
imfortunately this is a rare privilege, and the originals 
of my Madonnas would make a merry company." 

" Since you know so many of the sacred ladies," said 
Monita, still uncomprehending, '• perhaps you have been 
to Zaragoza and have seen Our Lady del Pilar. They 
say that she can cure my lameness ; it is for that reason 
that I have come from Mexico. Is Zaragoza much 
farther away ? Can I ever journey there ? " 



IN SEVILLE. 165 

" It is not so very far," replied Geronima, '^and I will 
ask my father to see that you are taken there. I have 
cousins in Zaragoza. With whom are you stajdng in 
Seville ? I am sure that we can arrange everything 
nicely." 

From Monita's description her friends surmised at 
whose house she was visiting, and a servant was sum- 
moned to take her home. "' Never fear," said Gero- 
nima to her at parting ; '' I shall seek you with my 
parents on the morrow, for I do not mean to lose sight 
of you while you are in Spain. And who knows but we 
may go back to Mexico together ? " 

Monita returned to the Casa de Pilatos to find the 
monk who had charge of the Indian children absent in 
search of her, and the family much disturbed on her 
account. Seiiora Ribera, having been unable to find 
her in the garden, and having searched the corridors 
and passages of the Alcazar without success, concluded 
that Monita had returned to the Casa ; but when told 
that she had not appeared there, feared that she was lost 
in the streets. Servants were sent in search of her, and 
the senora w^as the more vexed because she felt secretly 
that the child's loss was entirely her own fault. All 
Senora Ribera's discomfort was visited upon the friar 
on his arrival. The lady declared that she relinquislied 
all interest in a runaway who had given her so much 
uneasiness. The friar, in his turn, made Monita suffer 
for his disappointment, giving her several blows with his 
broad palm, and sending her to bed without her sup- 
per. Hungry, and smarting with pain and indignation, 
Monita consoled herself with the thought that the 
lovely young lady would call upon the morrow, and that 



166 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

the friar would be repaid for the loss of one patroness 
by the gain of another. Perhaps, too, Seiiora Ribera 
would take the little Aztec into her favor, and so all 
would be for the best. 

What was Monita's consternation to find, in the 
morning, that Seiiora Ribera's anger had abated ; and 
she promised the friar to forgive Monita and continue 
her patronage on condition that he should continue his 
journey at once and establish her safely as soon as pos- 
sible in a convent in Madrid, where there would be no 
chance for her to get into mischief and danger by rov- 
ing escapades. Monita told the friar of her newly 
found friend ; but he would listen to nothing : they 
must set out immediately for Madrid. 

Here, as the heavy gate of the convent closed upon 
the child, the friar's parting admonition was : '' Beware 
how you attempt to run away again I If you do, a 
worse fate than you can imagine will overtake you." 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE RED CROSS OF SANTIAGO. 

Whereas my fancy rather took 

The way that leads to town, 
Thou didst betray me to a lingering book, 

And wrap me in a gown. 

George Herbert. 

It was noon in the beautiful cloister of San Juan de 
los Reyes. The shadows lay close to the walls, and the 
brilliant flowers in the parterre were one blaze of scin- 
tillating sunshine. The sunlight bathed the arches, 
eating all effect out of the carved tracery from the lack 
of shading, and even the bubbling fountain no longer 
suggested coolness ; it was only a caldron boiling there 
in the simmering heat of a day in late September. 
The yoimg lawyer, Jose Sarmiento Valladares, who had 
just come from the shady recesses of the scriptorium, 
drew back as thousrh scorched. 

" San Lorenzo shield me ! " he murnuired to himself, 
" for this is worse than his gridiron. I wonder whether 
it is as hot as this in Mexico ; if it is, I should make 
but a poor pilgrim. I am insane to think of going. 
Very likely I should not be able to find my old friend 
Ignacio Mendoza if I did so ; but why in the name of 
all the demons does he not write to me ? Perhaps he is 
dead, poor fellow ! My letter from the Viceroy tells me 



168 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

that he went away to an obscure mission in the North, 
— doubtless among savage barbarians. No, I am wild 
to think of making that long journey to seek for him. 
If I found him, 't would be only to part again. Our 
paths in life lie in far different directions ; and yet what 
friends we were at the university ! I did not think 
then that he would become a monk, until this craze for 
doino- cjood to the Indians came upon him. 1 remem- 
ber it was reading the life of Las Casas. He would 
pace the corridors with his arm over my shoulder, pour- 
ing into my ear a eulogy of this same Las Casas, ^ who 
was a slave-holding planter and mine-owner at first, 
but became a monk, considering that it was wrong to 
hold the Indians in bondage. And not content with re- 
formimr his own life, he set himself to work in all the 
Indies as the protector of the Indians ; and having a 
friend in Court in the great Cardinal Ximenes. they two 
worked wonders. The story did not impress me greatly 
at the time, though I well remember with what fervor 
Ignacio w^ould say, ' Thou shalt be Ximenes to my Las 
Casas, Jose ; ' and I laughingl}' would promise him any- 
thing and everything. But now that he is gone, the 
silence is more eloquent than his words. Again and 
again I see his tearful eyes and hear his pleading voice. 
So powerful has it been of late that I have left the 
Court and have come out to Toledo to read, in this fair 
convent in which Ximenes lived (which was as much 
of a home as a cardinal could have), all the letters and 
acts of Ximenes in relation to the Indians. The abbot 
has been courteous to me, and I have read the letters 
of Las Casas and the arguments with which he floored 

^ See note a,t close of book on Ximenes iind Las Casas. 




THE DANCE OF THE DWARFS. 



THE RED CROSS OF SANTIAGO. 171 

De Sepulveda in their great controversy on slavery. It 
was well done ; he would have made a great lawyer. 
I have ransacked the laws which Ximenes caused to be 
enacted for the Indians, and should think that every- 
thing had been done for them that could be done, unless 
possibly they are not carried out in the spirit in which 
they were framed. Now, here is this law in regard to 
the mines. Ximenes evidently proceeded on the sup- 
position that the mines really belonged to the Indians, 
and the law was for their protection and to prevent 
their being imposed upon by unprincipled men. The 
mines were to be worked by the Indians under certain 
restrictions, and after the King's part was deducted, the 
metal belonged to them, a part to be expended in stock, 
farm-implements, houses, clothing, etc., the rest to be 
divided among the heads of families. By this it would 
seem that the Indians are really better off than the 
emigrant Spaniards, who are allowed licenses to get 
gold and silver for themselves only under certain condi- 
tions. The law favors the Indians sufficiently ; all this 
talk about their suffering is sentimentality. I do not 
see why I should trouble myself about them ; and yet 
Ignacio's face will not leave me. I wonder whether he 
is in any trouble, and I wish he would write." 

One other face haunted Valladares, — that of a dark- 
eyed little girl ; and as he left the convent and gave 
one farewell glance to the heavy iron manacles taken 
from Christian captives liberated from the Moors, with 
which its outer walls were festooned, all thought of 
Ximenes and Fray Ignacio vanished for the time from 
his mind. His horse picked its own way down the 
steep hill out of the Puerta del Sol, and turned its in- 



172 GREAT-GKANUMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

telligent head toward Madrid ; for its master had passed 
from one revery to another. 

A dozen 3^ears before, in the month of June, 16 GO, 
when but a little lad, Valladares had assisted as page 
to the Infanta at a great event, — the marriage of the 
Spanish princess to Louis XIV. of France. This mar- 
riage took place on the frontier, and was twice cele- 
brated, — first on Spanish ground in the picturesque 
walled town of Fontarabia, and then, just across the 
Bidassoa, in the little town of Saint-Jean-de-Luz in 
France. During the week of the nuptials there Avere 
bull-fights and plays, processions and balls, dances and 
Masses, with all the show and finery that the world 
and the Church could furnish. The noblesse of France 
and the hidalgos of Spain were present in large num- 
bers, and the great painter Velasquez was master of 
ceremonies. We can well imagine that with such 
actors and with such a man as the presiding genius, 
the effects of color, the spectacles and tableaux vivants 
must have been very gorgeous. It is said that his ex- 
ertions as grand marshal on this occasion, which in- 
cluded the decoration of the Castle of Fontarabia and 
the erection of a sumptuous pavilion in which the rev- 
elries were held, so overtaxed him that he died of the 
worry and excitement as soon as the great pageant 
was over. 

The courtly figure of Velasquez made a deep impres- 
sion upon the boyish mind of Valladares. He could 
recall distinctly the dark thin face with the elaborately 
trimmed mustache, set off by his lace ruff, his costume 
richly embroidered in silver, and above all the red cross 
of Santiago embroidered on his cloak, and another 




THR GREAT CARDINAL XIMKNKS. 



THE RED CEOSS OF SANTIAGO. ' 175 

jewelled badge of the Order worn upon a richly wrought 
chain. This badge of knighthood was but a pretty 
trinket to him then, but he had learned since to value 
and to long for it with an intense ambition which 
he now feared might never be realized. Philip IV. 
had conferred it on his favorite in a whimsical way. 
Velasquez was engaged in painting his masterpiece, 
the Maids of Honor, and "included himself, at work on 
a large picture of the royal family. Philip, who came 
every day to see the progress of this picture, remarked, 
in reference to the figure of the artist, that one thing 
was yet wanting ; and taking up the brush, painted the 
knightly insignia with his own royal fingers." 

Philip's successor, Charles II., the reigning Spanish 
sovereign, was not addicted to such gracious jests, and 
Valladares could not hope that he would some day find 
fault with one of his legal disquisitions as improperly 
signed, and affix to it the seal of the red cross. Much 
as he admired and envied this adornment, it was not 
for the Order of Santiago that he chiefly remembered 
Velasquez, but for a play and dance of children and 
dwarfs which he arranged, and which the young 
Valladares had witnessed. The Spanish King at this 
time was fond of making pets of " Meninas," — dwarfs 
and hunchbacks, ugly little monsters, sometimes of 
vicious disposition, — and there were several of them at 
the Court. Velasquez had arranged a comedy, in which 
gnomes of the under-world and fairies of the air should 
present the Infanta with gifts of gems and flowers. In 
this play Valladares remembered a pretty little girl who 
was dressed as an Indian princess, and who represented 
the Spanish possessions in America, who danced a 



176 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

strange barbaric sort of fandango, and after it recited 
a poem pledging the friendship of the New World to 
France and Spain. 

The Grand Monarque was greatly pleased with the 
little maid's performance, and asked that she should be 
brought forward after the play. Velasquez commis- 
sioned the dwarf, Maria Barbola, to lead her to the 
royal presence ; but the little Princess of Montezuma, 
for it was she, was frightened by the ferocious aspect 
of this big-headed little creature, and fled weeping to 
her mother. From the first she had manifested a great 
dread of the deformed manikin, which Maria Barbola 
had noticed, and had increased by grimacing and chat- 
tering at her in an ape-like way, and even by slyly 
pinching her whenever the dance brought them near 
together. Observing her terror, the Infanta bade Val- 
ladares (who was holding her ermine-bordered velvet 
train) go and persuade the little maid to come to her. 
Valladares flew across the ball-room ; and first seizing 
Maria Barbola by the shoulders, he spun her quickly 
away from the terrified child, and returning, coaxed 
her so gently that the little Geronima placed her hand 
in his and allowed herself to be led to their royal high- 
nesses. Louis tapped her on the cheek and thanked 
her for her pretty speech ; at the same time he tore 
from his mantle one of a row of pear-shaped emeralds 
with which it was decorated. " Let this serve to re- 
mind you," he said. " of the friendship which you have 
just pledged to France, and which France now pledges 
to you." 

The parents of the little girl saw in the gift only a 
promise of royal favor in case, as seemed not impossible, 



THE RED CROSS OF SANTIAGO. 179 

changing fortune might carry them for aid to the French 
Court. They had no idea that at any future day it 
would be in the power of this child to extend an asylum 
and aid to a descendant of this magnificent King. Val- 
ladares took the little lady back to her parents ; and 
shortly after the revelries were concluded, and the 
Infanta bade him farewell. 

''You are going back to Madrid," she said, "and I 
to Paris. I wish I could think of something, Jose, to 
give you as a souvenir of my wedding. What would 
you like to have ? " 

And the boy replied, not knowing for what he asked : 
" I should like best a beautiful red cross like that which 
the grand marshal, Velasquez, wears." 

" Ah ! that," said the Infanta, " is only in the gift of 
a Spanish king. And I am no longer even a Spanish 
princess, Jose ; this marriage has made me a French- 
woman, — French to the heart, for I love my husband. 
But perhaps if you study hard at the university, when 
you have done something grand and good to merit it, 
my brother Charles may give you the beautiful cross 
of Santiago. I will remind him of it ; and meantime, 
without being false to Spain, try, for my sake, to be 
always kind to France." 

From that time to this, Valladares had not seen the 
Infanta or the little Geronima Montezuma. He had 
learned her name, and had often desired, for the sake 
of meeting her or her family, to mingle with the gaye- 
ties of Court life ; but his parents had destined him to 
the university and the life of a scholar, and when at 
last he left Salamanca, unaccustomed to society, he had 
grown shy and awkward, and painfully conscious that 



180 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

he was a plain man. So he phniged more deeply than 
ever into his studies, and Charles II. gave him an office 
which kept him occupied near Madrid, in the gloomy 
cloister-palace of the Escurial. To this great building 
Valladares was now returning. Night had fallen, — a 
clear Castilian night, when the sky was hung with stars 
which seemed to swing like suspended lamps, and every 
object was sharply outlined against the level horizon. 

He had reached Madrid in time for a late supper, 
and was enjoying the coolness of this night journey. 
His thoughts wandered vaguel}' from one object to an- 
other. Now he was away back in his childhood, watch- 
ing the dance of the dwarfs and leading Geronima to 
the King ; now he paced the cloister with his arm 
round his friend Ignacio ; and now he thought of the 
red cross, and how like a jewelled decoration were some 
of the constellations of stars, when suddenly he noticed 
limping on before him, on the desolate plain, the figure 
of a young girl. A strong breeze had arisen, which 
tugged at his own cloak, and the child made painful 
and slow progress, stumping on patiently with her 
little crutch. Valladares soon overtook her ; and at 
first, from her dark face, mistook her for a gypsy. She 
held up her hand, signalling that she wished to speak ; 
and as he halted, inquired in broken Spanish tlie dis- 
tance to Zaragoza. 

" Zaragoza ! " exclaimed Valladares ; " but you are 
quite off your road, — it lies to the eastward from Mad- 
rid. Whence come you ? " 

The child shivered and turned round, but did not 
answer immediately. She looked at the long-stretching 
road between her and the city, and then asked: ^' Cabal- 



THE KED CKOSS OF SANTIAGO. 183 

lero, know you of no peasant's hut near by. where I can 
obtain shelter for the night ? I have passed no building 
of any kind for several miles, and this wind chills me 
to the bone. I am, as you see, an unfortunate on pil- 
grimage to the shrine of Our Lady del Pilar." At this 
point a great gust of wind interrupted her, and bent 
her nearly double. 

" Put your foot upon mine, and climb up behind me," 
said Valladares. " The gate-keeper's wife at the Escurial 
will keep you over night. How your teeth chatter ! 
Though windy, it does not seem so cold to me." 

" I come from a warmer climate, senor." 

'' Are you a gypsy, or a Moorish maiden ? " 

"No, seiior, I am from the Indies, — from Mexico." 

" That is a far country ! And how comes it that you 
are rambling alone on the moors to-night ? " 

" I have told you, senor. 1 am on a pilgrimage to 
Zaragoza." 

" But you surely have not come all the way from the 
Indies alone ? " 

" No, seiior ; a good friar brought me with other In- 
dian maidens and placed us in a convent. But they 
were well and strong, while I need to be cured of my 
lameness, and so — " 

" And so you ran away from the convent, eh ? " 

" Yes, seiior." 

" Now, my child, that was very wrong. It is quite 
as probable that the good nuns will cure you with their 
simples as that the Virgin del Pilar can do you any 
good. You must go back in the morning to them. It 
is not meet for a young damsel to be tramping about 
the countrv unattended." 



18-i GREAT-GKANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

Moiiita was silent ; and presently they reached the 
gate-lodge of the monastery. The gate-keeper's wife 
took Monita in charge, and gave her a bowl of thick 
sonp and a warm bed. The warmth was pleasant, and 
drowsiness soon overcame her ; but a little after mid- 
night she awoke. All was quiet, and the moon was 
shining through the window just as it did at the con- 
vent. Go back to the convent ! No, she could not. 
She must find Our Lady del Pilar and go back to New 
Mexico. Very silently she dressed ; and drawing the 
great bolt, softly slipped out into the moonlight. 

The next morning, when Valladares came to inquire 
for her at the lodge, he was told that she had gone. 

" She left this under her pillow," said the gate- 
keeper's wife, extending a small prayer-book. 

Valladares opened it, and saw written on the fly-leaf : 
" Monita, from her spiritual guide. Ignacio Mendoza." 

He gave a great start. Here was the missing link 
between him and his friend. 

^' I must find her I " he exclaimed ; and ordering his 
horse, he hurried from the Escurial. 



CHAPTER X. 

THE KNOTTED CORD. 

And when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove them all out 
of the temple. — John ii. 15. 

To idols and beams of wood 

They force us to bow the knee. 
They plunge us in caverns and dens, 
Where never thy blessed light 
Shines on our poisonous toil ; 
But not in the caverns and dens, 

O Sun, are we mindless of thee. 

SoUTHEY. 

CAPTAiisr Zuniga's two ambitions were hardly com- 
patible with each other. Lately, until the discovery 
of the silver mine, he had thought of winning the 
Indians to himself and to the heiress of the Montezu- 
mas, and even of encouraging them to a revolt against 
the other Spaniards. The sudden acquisition of an 
■unlimited supply of wealth for a time set aside his 
political scheme. He needed the support of the Span- 
ish authority at Santa Fe to make good his claim to 
the mine against Fray Ignacio's in behalf of the Church 
and the Indians. By seizing and holding the mine he 
had not only brought upon himself the fearless denun- 
ciation of Fray Ignacio, but had also offended the 
silversmiths of all the pueblos, whose joint property 
the Indians had held it to be, and through the silver- 
smiths had alienated the entire Indian nation. In the 



180 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

intoxication of the moment he did not care for this, 
but set liimself vigorously to work to fortify and to 
develop the mine, and through bribery to maintain his 
claim in the courts. Fray Ignacio repaired to Santa 
Fe, and was loud in his complaints ; but he soon found 
that possession was nine tenths of the law, and that with 
no money to purchase legal assistance, he was beating 
the air to very little purpose. He had counted on the 
support of the Church, and was encouraged when the 
matter was taken up by the Superior of his Order in 
Santa Fe, and a claim counter to Captain Zufiiga's 
presented ; but he was rendered heart-sick by finding 
that in this claim, which was based upon the need of 
larger church edifices and more plate, the rights of the 
Indians were no more recognized than in that of the 
Captain. The good father vented his indignation in a 
sermon which he had been invited to preach in Santa 
Fe. He took for his theme the terrible seventh chapter 
of Jeremiah, which he translated carefully at length, 
laying particular stress on the following verses : 

" Trust ye not in lying words, saying. The temple of 
the Lord, The temple of the Lord. Will ye steal, 
nmrder, and swear falsely ; and come and stand before 
me in this house, which is called by my name ? This 
is a nation that obeyeth not the voice of the Lord. 
Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, when 
the carcases of the people shall be meat for the fowls 
of the heaven, and for the beasts of the earth ; and none 
shall fray them away. Then will I cause to cease the 
voice of mirth, and the voice of gladness, the voice of 
the bridegroom, and the voice of the bride : for the land 
shall be desolate." 



THE KNOTTED CORD. 189 

This was not a cheerful opening to the sermon ; but 
Fray Ignacio made it still more uncomfortably personal 
by crying in a loud voice : " It is in vain to give the 
Indians religion without first giving them justice. It 
is in vain to build more churches, to send to them more 
devoted missionaries, with a part of the money which 
we plunder from them. Think you that God will ac- 
cept the offering ? I tell you, no. He will drive you 
hence with a scourge of cords, as he put forth those 
who made his temple a den of thieves, if indeed he 
do not send a sea of flame and blood to cleanse these 
churches, — flame which shall burn away all ill-gotten 
wealth, and the blood of his faithful martyrs, whom he 
can no longer suffer to serve in whited sepulchres." 

Fray Ignacio's sermon produced a sensation, but 
one not favorable to himself. The friends of the 
Marque de la Penuela wlio were interested in the 
building scheme, the clerg}^, and the lawyers were 
all incensed, and measures were set on foot which soon 
effected the removal of Fray Ignacio from his Mission 
at San Juan to the lonely pueblo of Acoma, away in 
the southwest. He was better fitted, it was judged, for 
frontier work. In great grief the padre bade farewell 
to his little flock. " Dios consiente," he said, quoting 
the words of another faithful missionary, "' pero no para 
siempre," — God may consent, but not forever. 

How he lono-ed for his friend the advocate Valladares 
to take np the cause which he was obliged to relinquish, 
and wondered why he had heard no word in answer to 
his letter. He had sent it by Monita instead of by the 
general post, for that was subject to inspection ; and 
while the silver mine was still a secret, he did not wish 



190 GREAT-GKANDMOTHEK'S GIRLS. 

it divulged. ^Now he had to fear that any letter of 
complaint from him would be stopped in Santa Fe, and 
he looked about for some trusty messenger to carry a 
second letter to Valladares from Mexico. Pope was a 
prisoner in the mines ; but Pope's father, Simon Magus, 
expressed himself willing to carry the letter to the city 
of Mexico, where Fray Ignacio thought it might be 
trusted to the general post. 

The old sorcerer was the more willing to undertake 
the expedition as Fray Ignacio assured him that it had 
to do with the liberation of his son ; and Monita's letter 
from the convent of Santa Clara before sailing had 
told them how kindly disposed the Spaniards of Mexico 
were to the Indians, and put hope in his heart as he 
set out on a dog-trot upon the long journey. He 
nearly perished in the desert, but found himself after 
many adventures in the city of Mexico. He bore a 
letter from Fray Ignacio which secured him a lodging 
with the Franciscans, who faithfully sent the letter for 
Valladares on its way to Spain, and entertained Simon 
Magus to the best of their ability. They were shocked 
by Fray Ignacio's report of the abuses which the In- 
dians suffered at the hands of the settlers, and assured 
the poor Indian that all that would be remedied in 
good time if he would only have patience and wait. 
Wajt ? Yes, if they could give him any hope ; and so 
he lingered in the hospice for two years, waiting for 
some message to take back to Fray Ignacio and his 
people. The friars saw his beseeching, eager look each 
morning, and knew what it meant ; but they did not 
see their way to helping, though they pitied him, and 
said to one another that it was a shame that his son 



THE KNOTTED CORD. 193 

should be imprisoned in the mines. They did not turn 
him away, but gave him work to do from time to time, 
hoping tliat he miglit forget his home in the North 
and decide to remain with tliem. One young brother, 
Fray Isidro, more enthusiastic for making converts tlian 
the other friars, began a work of grace upon him. He 
took him first to see the heathen idols, many of which 
still remain in the city. He showed Simon Magus the 
round sacrificial stone with its sculptured border, and 
the channel chiselled on the upper surface, down which 
the blood of thousands of human victims had trickled. 
He dilated on the horror and cruelty of the old religion, 
with its festival for every month, at which human vic- 
tims were offered, — in February to the god of storms, 
in March to the god of children ; a sad Christmas day 
for the little people, for to this god children were 
drowned. He told of the great sacrifice of prisoners to 
the hideous god of war, of beautiful women beheaded 
and flayed as offerings to the gods of hunting and 
agriculture ; and he contrasted this barbarity with the 
religion of Jesus and Mary, which, he explained, was all 
goodness and mercy. He asserted that the Spaniards 
had come to this new country solely to give them this 
beautiful gospel instead of the old horrible superstition. 
As Simon Magus listened it seemed to him that Fray 
Ignacio was speaking, and it sounded so beautiful that 
he would fain have believed it. 

" And those Spaniards who have taken away the 
mine that belonged to Koba and the other silversmiths, 
and who have made my son and other Indians slaves, 
and who maimed little Monita, and have killed others 
of my brethren?" he asked. 



104 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

'' Those were no Christians." the monk replied hotly, 
'- and no Christian priest would give them hope of 
salvation." 

Simon Magus was satisfied for the time, and waited 
through the long summer patiently for some sign of 
help for his people. None came, and he began to grow 
restless : perhaps he had done wrong not to beseech his 
old gods also ; he must leave no stone unturned. It was 
plain to him at last that this Mary and Jesus were not 
strong enough to help him. since he was assured that 
they were full of mercy and kindness. The evil god 
must be in power at this time, and it behooved him 
to interview his Satanic Majesty, and attempt to turn 
his anger away from the poor Indians. Accordingly, 
one dark night Simon Magus descended into the wine- 
cellar of the convent, carrying with him a chicken 
(which, I regret to say, he had stolen from the brothers' 
poultry-yard), a lighted lamp, and a small quantity of 
copal, — a kind of gum. It was as dark and gloomy in 
the cellar as in any underground estufa, or chamber of 
incantations of his own people. The great butts of 
Xeres (or sherry) wine were in an inner apartment; 
but he could see them dimly behind their padlocked 
grating, like so many rows of brown-gowned portly 
friars, giving countenance and dignity to his solemn 
rites b}^ their silent presence. Simon Magus had pre- 
pared for his ceremony by long fasting ; and he now 
cut the throat of the chicken, mingled the copal with 
the blood, and setting fire to all, proceeded to repeat 
certain mystical words and to make signs over the flame, 
the entire ceremony being a sacrifice to Coquetaba, the 
god of hell, asking him to close the road against death 



THE KNOTTED COKD. 1U5 

and misfortune to the Indians, and if these evil spirits 
must come forth, to open it to the bad Spaniards only. 
The suffocating fumes of the burning feathers and flesh 
penetrated the upper cloisters and wakened Brother 
Isidro ; his first impression was that the convent was on 
fire. He hurried down the stairs, determined to inves- 
tigate the matter before alarming the brethren. What 
was his horror to find his protege, the man of whose 
conversion he had been so hopeful, engaged in an act 
of sorcery and desecrating their holy convent by a burnt 
sacrifice to Satan I Sorcery was one of the special 
points of attack of the Inquisition, and the Holy Of- 
fice was now in full force in Mexico ; there was to be an 
auto-da-fe in a few days, under the auspices of their rival 
Order, the Dominicans. There was no telling what 
penalty and peril might fall upon their convent if this 
occurrence should come to light. Fray Isidro stamped 
out the smouldering fire, obliging Simon Magus thor- 
oughly to remove all remnants of the sacrifice and to 
scrape the earth. He washed the spot with holy water, 
fumigated the crypt with incense, and drove the poor 
sorcerer from the convent with a stern rebuke and 
many warnings. Even his enslaved conscience could 
not prevail upon him to confess this matter to his 
Superior. It chanced that the morning of the execu- 
tion of the decrees of the Holy Office at the brasero 
(brazier) or quemadero (burning-place) of San Diego,^ 

^ Mr. Janvier, in liis excellent Mexican Guide, quotes from Fray Vetan- 
cent, who, describing the pleasing outlook from the door of San Diego, 
writes : " The view is beautified by the plaza of San Ilipolito and the 
burning-place of the Holy Office." 

The church of San Domingo shown in the illustration, although built by 
the Dominicans, did not exist at this time. 



196 



CJREAT-GRANDxMOTHER'S GIRLS. 



Fray Isidro saw Simon Magus skulking about the door 
of the convent. Thinking that it might have a salu- 
tary effect upon him, and frighten him from future 




ClIUKCJl OF SAN DOMINGO. 



dangerous experiments in the way of sorcery, the Fray 
advised him to attend the ceremony. 

It was a shocking spectacle : fourAdctims were stran- 
gled, and then burned at the stake ; a fifth, a corsair 
from the high seas and a heretic, Avas burned alive. 
It is difficult for us to realize that the Inquisition really 



THE KNOTTED CORD. 197 

took root upon A7ne7'ica7i soil. We read of its iniqui- 
tous doings in Spain and in tlie Netherlands ; but that 
men and women were actually burned on this continent, 
and that the tribunal was in power in this century (it 
was not suppressed until May 21, 1820), is hard for us 
to believe. And yet it was so ; and the inhumanity 
which allowed such things to be, remains still in the 
callous hearts which hear of other wrongs and cruelties 
without an effort to remedy them. 

Simon Magus regarded the spectacle with horror 
and bewilderment. Fray Isidro had told him that 
human sacrifices were done away with, and had been 
shocked that he had burned a fowl to the god of hell ; 
and yet here was a human soul going forth in flame 
and torture, a man burned alive to the devil by this 
very Church of Mary and Jesus, for there stood Fray 
Isidro with the friars of his Order consentini!; to 
his death. The terrible scene was over, the crowd 
had dispersed, and the processions of friars returned 
to their convent. Simon Magus followed them, the 
almoner admitted him to the kitchen, and he waited 
there for Fray Isidro, who presently came to him. " I 
thought I told you never to come back here," the 
friar said, more from apprehension for himself than 
from cruelty to the poor Indian. 

" I only wanted to ask one or two questions," the 
sorcerer replied. '* Tell me, was it with your consent, 
and that of the other priests, that these men w^ere 
burned ?" 

" Yes." 

" And you think that the missionaries to the Northern 
Indians, that Fray Ignacio, would have agreed to it ? " 



198 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

" They and he must have done so, since it was au- 
thorized by our religion." 

'' And 30U people who burn others are going to 
heaven ?" 

"Yes." 

" Then be sure I will not go there, or have aught to 
do with your religion here." 

" Have a care how you speak ; there are but two 
things for which we burn people, — heresy, or disbelief 
in our religion, and," the friar whispered, '^ sorcer3^" 

He did not explain that the Indians were specially 
exempted from the jurisdiction of the Inquisition : the 
man was so obdurate that he thoug;ht a thoroug^h scare 
would do him good. Simon Magus's jaw fell, and his. 
eyes protruded with terror. ''Then there is no hope," 
he muttered to himself, '' except in the knotted cord." 

He fled from the convent and from the city, travelling 
all nischt in the most intense fear. In the mornino: 
he hid himself in a dry gully and slept, having first 
refreshed himself with a few stolen vegetables. Not 
until far away from the capital did he dare enter the 
Indian villages and beg food. In one of these some 
Indian women were making tortillas, — a kind of pan- 
cake, — which saluted his hungry nostrils with a most 
appetizing odor. He approached, and would have 
asked for one of them, but he saw a picture of the 
Virgin on the wall l:)ehind them, and he dared not 
linger, for he felt that he was not yet beyond the 
power of his enemies. 

So he proceeded on his way homeward, disappointed, 
hopeless, reckless, slinking like a coyote away from 
the habitations of men ; limping on painfully but 



THE KNOTTED CORD. 



199 



swiftly, — on, on, away from the terrible Spaniards. At 
last he reached the neighborhood of Captain Zufiiga's 
new hacienda ; and here he paused, haunting the moun- 
tains for days, dreading to approach too near, and 
yet chained to the vi- 
cinity because his son 
Pope was at work 
somewhere in those 
dreary mines. There 
was a crag from which 
he could overlook all 
the country round and 
see down into the haci- 
enda. Here he would 
lie prone, hugging the 
rock, that his form 
might not be outlined 
against the sky, watch- 
ing; and waiting; for he 
hardly knew what to 
happen. Another canon 
ran nearly parallel to 
that on which the mine 
opened, and one day he 
noticed a small party 

of Indians marching down this canon. He watched 
them with interest, and saw that they halted at a spot 
just opposite the hacienda and went into camp. The 
next day the Indians were still there, and the next ; 
and Simon Magus determined to join them. He found 
that they were a party of silversmiths who were tap- 
ping the mine from another direction from that in 




SELLING TORTILLAS. 



200 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

which Captain Zuniga was working it. He remained 
with them, aiding in their work. A long tmniel was 
excavated before they came to silver ; but at last they 
reached the precious vein, and they worked more rap- 
idly, for the danger of discovery was great, and they 
were anxious to provide themselves with as much of 
the metal as they could carry, and be gone. 

The morning of tlie hist daj' of their stay, Simon 
Magns heard a dull thud, — the sound of a pickaxe 
striking regularly at some little distance within. He 
stopped working in dismay, for he knew that he was 
near Captain Zuniga' s galleries. Then he listened in- 
tently. If he could only tell whether the workman were 
a Spaniard or an Indian ! Thud, thud, the blows came 
more distinctly. There was another sound too, — a bar- 
baric singing, which could hardly deserve the name, — 
a monotonous, wailing chant ; and Simon Magus, muf- 
fled as it was by the wall of earth, recognized the song 
and the voice. It was Pope, who was keeping up his 
heart in his catacomb prison b}^ singing, not one of 
the Christian chants which Fray Ignacio had taught 
him, but an old heathen song of praise to the Sun-god, 
— the sun, which lie had not seen for nearly four years! 
Tears of joy coursed down the old man's face ; and then 
he caught up the refrain and sang the same song, 
though it was perilous to do so, for Pope might not be 
alone. The blows and words ceased on the other side 
of the wall for a time, and Simon Magus knew that 
Pope was listening. Then the strokes of the pick 
began again with feverish hate, and he was sure that 
his son had recognized his signal and that he was alone. 
The father worked upon his side, and soon the two 




IN THE MINES. 



THE KNOTTED CORD. 20o 

picks clashed together ; then a skeleton hand, which 
he would never liave taken for that of his son, was 
thrust through the opening, and presently, with tlie 
aid of the silversmiths, Pope was drawn through. How 
changed he was by his long imprisonment ! The young 
man's long hair was perfectly white, a film seemed to 
have grown over his eyes, which he covered with his 
hands to keep out even the light of the shady canon, 
and his form was bent like that of an aged man. He 
had been fed just sufficiently to sustain life, and the 
silversmiths gave him small pieces of tlieir jerked 
buffalo-meat, which he ate ravenously. Very hurriedly 
they walled up the opening in the mine and made 
preparations to flee ; but they had only proceeded a 
half mile or so when loud shouts in the direction of 
the mine informed them that their excavations had 
been discovered. Other crevices and gullies opened 
into the canon in which they were, and the little party 
sought safety in separation and concealment. From 
his eyrie on the crag Simon Magus had studied the 
conformation of the country, and he led his son up 
a dried watercourse ; and they concealed themselves in 
a cave from which he had seen a bear issue several 
mornings before. It was no matter that the bear might 
be there now ; she was safer company than the Span- 
iards. Fortunately the cave was empty ; and Pope, 
quite exhausted, stretched himself upon the floor. Nor 
did the bear return ; and after nightfall they ventured 
out, only to find the dead bodies of the other Indians in 
the main canon below. The Spaniards had overtaken 
and killed them all, had plundered and mutilated the 
bodies, and had placed their heads on stakes in the 



204 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

canon which led to the mine. The sight seemed to 
give both father and son the strength of fear, and they 
fled away to a water-hole in the mountains, where Simon 
Magus filled his gourds, and the pair started for their 
northward journey. They subsisted on small animals 
and roots except when they were fortunate enough to 
come across a prairie-dog town. Sometimes they even 
ate serpents ; and at last, worn and spent, they found 
themselves near San Juan. They slunk into the town 
after nightfall, and met the chief men of the pueblo in 
the estufa that night. 

Simon Magus told his tragic story with vehemence, 
but his friends Ustened to him with apathy. A sin- 
gle Spaniard was left in the town, — a strange priest 
who had taken Fray Ignacio's place ; the others had 
followed Captain Zuiiiga to the hacienda. But when 
Simon Magus urged them to kill this remaining Span- 
iard, fire the Mission and presidio, and thus set the 
example of revolt to the other pueblos, so strong was 
the affection which the people still bore to the exiled 
Fray Ignacio that for his sake they refused to rise 
against the Spaniards. It was in vain that the sor- 
cerer told them that the other pueblos were ripe for 
this act. " Soon, very soon, the runners will be sent 
out from Pecos with the knotted cords which will call 
you in Montezuma's name to join in this uprising and 
drive the oppressors from the land. Then if you do 
not join with your brethren tliey will turn upon you 
like a pack of wolves upon a wounded coyote, and 
yourselves and your pueblo will be blotted out forever." 

The men listened in grave silence. The affair was 
serious ; they too were stung by the wrongs which they 



THE KNOTTED COKD. 



205 



had suffered. They were saddened to hear of Koba, 
their silversmith, murdered, of the terrible life which 
their brethren still led in the mines ; but they could 
scarcely credit this story which Simon Magus told them 
of the human sacrifices which he had witnessed in Mex- 
ico. He must be crazed with grief, they argued ; such 




THEY FOUND VILLAGES OF PRAIRIE-DOGS. 



things could not be. Even when assured by his protes- 
tations they remained inert, in a sort of despairing 
apathy. They were patient by nature, and Fray Ignacio 
had inculcated a patience which was beyond nature, 
and it would take great provocation to stir them. 

Pope, who had hitherto been silent, rose and spoke 
of what he had endured, showing them his emaciated 



206 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

body, his white locks and cruel scars, and adding in an 
impassioned voice : " You still trust in Fray Ignacio, 
but he is powerless to help us. He promised me that 
Monita should come back to me well and strong, — 
Monita. who was to be my bride. Have I not waited 
long; enough ? Where is she ? Her father's head is 
on a stake in front of the mine which belongs in part 
to her, which Fray Ignacio said should be kept for the 
Indians. Where is Fray Ignacio?" 

" You will not rise for me," Simon Magus cried, 
" but you must rise when you see the knotted cord ; 
you cannot disobey the call of patriotism and your old 
religion." 

The men shook their heads, and one honored by the 
others replied for the rest : " Let Montezuma call ; 
when he comes we must follow ; and meantime we 
will send runners to Fra}^ Ignacio to ask him what 
to do." 

The assembly broke up. Father and son were enter- 
tained three days, and then sent upon their way to the 
northern pueblo of Taos, for here among more warlike 
people Simon Magus felt sure that the seeds of revenge 
would grow. Just before they left, Pope stole into the 
little familiar chapel. How homelike it looked, with 
the rude pulpit and confessional, the door open into the 
sacristy, where the red petticoats and white lace gowns 
hung on wooden pegs, Our Lady of Guadalupe smiling 
down from the high altar, and the sunlight glinting in 
from the cloister-garden ! He could almost fancy that 
he heard Fray Ignacio's bass-viol, and his full rich voice 
singing, — „^ ., . 

o o' " Geniton, genitoque, 

Laus et juhilatio." 



THE KNOTTED CORD. 207 

Happy tears moistened his eyelids. All the weary 
months of suffering were a dream ; he seemed to 
stand with Monita once more before his faithful early 
teacher. If he could only see him again, could only 
hear from her that she was well and happy, he would 
relinquish this scheme of revenge. 

Suddenly he thought of the turquoise cup : he was 
to look upon it, and know by the color of the gems of 
her well-being. He hurried to the altar and opened the 
sacred pyx. The cup was there ; but the turquoises, of 
poorer quality than the precious variety, had lost their 
exquisite hue and turned to dirty greenish-white. 
Some of them had even disintegrated, and fallen from 
their setting. He looked at them in superstitious 
dread. A great horror came over him : Monita was 
without doubt dead ; and replacing the pyx, he strode 
out of the chapel, and away from San Juan. 



CHAPTER XI. 

AT THE SHRINE OF DEL PILAR. 

" They bowed the knee to Mary, 

And to her Son Divine; 
And they called on all the holy saints, 

But first on Saint Valentine. 
And they found that our gracious Lady, 

Who, as the legends tell, 
Cures broken backs and broken legs, 

Can cure broken hearts as well." 

Dona Geronima Montezuma called on Dona Ribera 
the next day after her meeting with Monita, and was 
greatly disappointed to learn that she had been taken 
to a convent in Madrid. The Countess of Montezuma 
consoled her daughter with the promise that they 
should call on the little Indian girl when next they 
went to Madrid. 

The young Princess of Tula, princess only in name, 
was obliged to content herself with this vague promise. 
Dona Ribera did not know to which of the religious 
houses of the capital Monita had been assigned ; and 
Geronima could only wait, solacing herself with the 
thought that Monita was quite safe in the custody of 
the good nuns, and that it would be easy to find her by 
and by. It chanced, however, that the family did not go 
to Madrid for over a year, and Monita had time to be- 
lieve herself forgotten by her new friend, and to be very 




AN IDEAL TEZCOCAN GARDEN. 



AT THE SHRINE OF DEL PILAll. 211 

desolate and homesick at the convent, where no attention 
or sympathy was shown to the two errands on which 
she had come to Spain, — Fray Ignacio's and her own. 

At the expiration of a year, however, important is- 
sues were discussed in the Montezuma family, — issues 
so far reaching that the Count deemed it expedient to 
repair to Madrid and ask the advice of his sovereign. 
Captain Zuniga had written of the discovery of the 
silver mine, had reinforced his letter with a cargo of 
silver, and had applied in due form for the hand of 
the Princess of Tula. He was now able, he boasted, 
to make her the wealthiest lady in New Spain, and 
could build for her a paradise which would rival the old 
palaces and gardens of Tezcoco, in which her ancestors 
took their pleasure. There were hints, also, in the 
Captain's letter of a crown in the future. These hints 
troubled the Count. He had not been without ambi- 
tious hopes for his daughter ; but he was unwilling to 
embark in a hazardous enterprise, and he determined 
to lay the matter before the King, sure that in this way 
he should obtain the royal favor, — perhaps gain it also 
for the Captain, whose plans, as explained to the Count, 
did not disclose the treachery to the Spanish cause 
which really lurked within them. 

The Count found another baffling element in his 
daughter. When the matter was explained to her, she 
expressed herself as delighted with the idea of going to 
New Spain, and of seeing the country of her Indian an- 
cestors ; but she was provokingly averse to marrying 
her cousin. 

'' I remember him very well," she said ; " he was a 
great ugly boy, and he trod on my lap-dog's tail on 



212 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

purpose, and laughed when I cried. I do not want to 
be his wife." 

It was in vain that her parents protested that this 
was years before, and that Captain Zufiiga had had 
time to change. Geronima remained fixed in her 
determination. She had developed a will of her own 
which greatly surprised her mother, who had hitherto 
found her gentle and yielding. Her first care on reach- 
ing Madrid was to institute a search for Monita. The 
convent was discovered, after some inquiry, and Gero- 
nima was shocked to ascertain that Monita had run 
away from it only a few days previous. The abbess 
was of opinion that she had started for Mexico, for the 
child had been very homesick. Those in authority at 
the convent had written to all the ports, and had 
agents on the wharves to look for her. 

Geronima made still more explicit inquiries. Had 
the girl been harshly treated in any way ? No ; every 
kindness had been shown her. She had been denied 
nothing in their power to grant, except an absurd 
desire to go on a pilgrimage on the occasion of the 
festival of Our Lady del Pilar ; but the senorita knew 
how impossible it was to grant a request like that, and 
allow their pupils to journey about the country to at- 
tend all the religious festivals in honor of all the numer- 
ous and widely scattered shrines of Spain. It w^as 
doubtless only a vagabond fondness for wandering ; 
and noticing how depressed she was after this refusal, 
the abbess had sent her with one of the nuns to see the 
sacred image at the Convent of Atocha, in the suburbs 
of the city, — and this ought to have satisfied her. 

Geronima thanked the abbess for her information, 




COUSIN FAQUITA IN THE COURTYARD. 



AT THE SHRINE OF DEL PILAR. 215 

and returned home to discuss the matter with her 
mother. The more she pondered it, the more certain 
she became that this was no idle whim of Monita's, but 
arose from her desire to be cured of her lameness. 
" She has gone to Zaragoza ! " the senorita exclaimed 
with sudden inspiration. " Let me visit my cousins 
there, and I shall certainly find her." 

It so happened that the Zaragoza cousins were no 
other than two of Captain Zuniga's married sisters ; and 
the Count de Montezuma hailed this new desire of 
his daughter as a sign of relenting. " She wishes to 
visit Faquita and Enriquita," he thought, "in order 
to see more of the family and to learn more about 
their absent brother; it is well." 

So the Countess Montezuma took Geronima to Zara- 
goza to the house of Senora Faquita Zaporta for a 
friendly visit. Faquita Zuniga had married a wealthy 
merchant, and lived in handsome style in a large house 
on the Calle San Pedro. The magnificent staircase and 
ornate roof still exist, and travellers visit this mansion 
to admire the sculptured musicians which tell of the 
taste and wealth of the former owners. This mar- 
riage had taken place after Captain Zuiliga's depart- 
ure to the New World, and by it the fortunes of the 
Zunigas had been much improved. Faquita enjoyed 
the new luxury with which she was surrounded ; but 
the old De la Cueva pride still remained. Her good 
husband, the worthy Zaporta, was not a noble, and 
Faquita worshipped rank. Her brother's ambition was 
no secret in the family, and she devoted herself to 
making the visit of the Princess of Tula as agreeable 
as possible. She showed her all the sights of the old 



216 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

town, and first of all the leaning tower. Tliis beau- 
tiful campanile was not constructed out of the per- 
pendicular by a trick of the architect, like that of 
Pisa, but has settled slightly at the base. It is of 
octagonal shape, and in the Moorish style. 

'" It is like a candle," said Geronima, " which the 
children always carry aslant in the processions ; but 
Zaragoza is happy to have lu'ld her taper as long as 
she has." 

Faquita soon found that Geronima did not care 
greatly for the •'monuments" of the city; with the 
exception of the ancient church which held the ven- 
erated image of Del Pilar, she manifested no curiosity 
to see the great buildings of Zaragoza. Faquita won- 
dered at the devotion wdiich prompted Geronima to 
visit this church so often, and Geronima, deciding to 
confide in her cousin, told her of the interest which she 
felt in the little Indian girl. 

'' It is strange," said Faquita, '' that my brother has 
never mentioned the child in his letters ; but possibly 
she comes from a different part of the country." 

Accompanied • by a duenuia, Geronima visited the 
church twice each day. She enlisted the different 
servitors of the church in her cause, from the conse- 
quential and portly sacristan to the poor lamplighter 
and the old woman who sold rosaries and prints of 
the Virgin on the church-steps. Days went by, and 
Monita did not come ; but one day a gentleman, plainly 
but richly dressed, startled the sacristan by making 
the same inquiries as the Princess of Tula. It was 
the lawyer Valladares, who had received Fray Ignacio's 
second letter, mailed to him in Mexico by Simon 



AT thp: siikine of del pilar. 



217 



Magus, and was doing what 

he conld for his friend. Fray 

Ignacio had mentioned Mo- 

nita's desire to visit the shrine 

of our Lady of Zaragoza, and 

had commended her to the 

care of Valladares. The 

meeting with the little wan- 
derer on the heath near the 

Escurial had touched the law- 
yer's heart, and he sought for 

her now in earnest, feeling 

sure that he must find her at 

the shrine of Del Pilar. 

'• Vamos 1 " exclaimed the 

old sacristan : '" who is this 
Indian princess that so many 
grand people are interested 
in finding her?" 

"Who is searching for 
her besides myself ? " asked 
Valladares ; and the sacris- 
tan began to tell him of 
the beautiful lady who came 
twice each day to make in- 
quiries. "Hush! here she 
comes," he said, pushing Val- 
ladares into the sagrario as 
Geronima entered. 

Where had the lawyer seen that sweet face ? Surely 
it had haunted his dreams all his life. The sacristan 
cunningly aided him ; and after assuring the Princess 




218 GREAT-GRANDMOTIIER'S GIRLS. 

that no one answering to her description of the Indian 
girl appeared, he asked her into the sagrario to inspect 
tlie wardrobe of the Virgin, enclosed in several cabi- 
nets. He was a long time unlocking the numerous 
drawers, and very profuse and polite in his explana- 
tions to the duenna, — telling how such and such a 
royal lady had embroidered tliis magnificent robe of 
white satin, stiff with arabesques in gold thread ; an- 
other had beaded that velvet mantle with pearls; and a 
third had painted the miniature chips of ivory which 
represented the faces in this strange piece of tapestr\'. 
The senora was greatly interested : might she be per- 
mitted to bring her embroidery-frame and copy some 
of the heavenly designs ? And the sacristan was 
strangely obliging : Most certainly, if the illustrious 
lady so desired. And all this time Valladares looked 
and looked, the wonder growing in his heart: Where 
had he seen her before ? (leronima, without looking 
at him, was conscious of his steadfast gaze, and, strange 
to say, was not annoyed, but followed the sacristan 
from cabinet to cabinet, with her pretty head bent for- 
ward in an attitude of the most rapt attention, but 
hearing nothing and seeing nothing all the while. 

When next they came, the duenna brought her em- 
broidery and sat down in the sagrario to cop}' the 
coveted design. '' The seiiorita had better remain out- 
side tlie door, to warn you if any visitors come," said 
the sacristan ; '' for though I have allowed you to do 
this thing, yet it is a weakness on my part, which if 
discovered may cost me my position here. The se- 
norita need not stand always in front of the door, as 
though on sentinel duty, for that might attract atten- 



AT THE SHRINE OF DEL PILAU. 



219 




GERONIMA SEATED IN THE CANOPIED NICHE. 



tion ; it would be better if she wandered up and down, 
regarding the pictures or saying her prayers before the 
altars." 

Geronima did as the sacristan had suggested, not at 



220 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

first perceiving his plan, until when at a little distance 
from the door of the sagrario he approached and told 
her of the visitor of the day before, also interested in 
finding the Indian girl. 

'■ Who is he ? " Geroninia asked in unfeigned sur- 
prise. 

" Cannot the noble lady guess?" the sacristan asked, 
somewhat piqued ; for he had come to think that this 
search for an Indian cripple was only a subterfuge to- 
hide a preconcerted appointment between these twa 
young people. 

Geronima shook her head with such straightfor- 
ward honesty that the wily sacristan began to feel that 
for once he had outwitted himself. ••• Surely," he said, 
" the noble lady cannot tell me that she did not recog- 
nize the caballero whom she met yesterday in the: 
sagrario — Hold, he is here ! Senor, this is the lady 
who seeks, like yourself, the Indian pilgrim." 

Valladares advanced, bowing respectfully and gravely. 
" The niiiid 1 seek," he said, '' is called Monita. She is 
of the pueblo of San Juan in New Mexico." 

"I seek her also, sefior," replied Geronima, looking 
up into his plain but honest face with a strange feeling 
of old acquaintanceship, and a questioning glance to 
wdiich he innnediately replied : " My name is Jose 
Sarmiento Valladares. I was an early friend of the 
good missionary Ignacio Mendoza, who has by letter 
commended this child to my care." 

"And I," replied Geroniuia, '' found her by the 
merest chance — I should say, senor, by God's good 
providence — in Seville, and I seek her again ; for I 
have liood reason to care for the Indians." 



AT THE SllKINE OF DEL PILAR. 221 

The sacristan listened to this conversation with 
greedy ears. " By the white horse of St. James, they 
meet as strangers," he thought with disappointment. 
"A plague on my romantic old brain for conjuring up 
a love-affair whei-e none existed ! I might as well have 
imagined that Del Pilar yonder was coquetting with 
the efhgy of the holy canon Funes. Still, that there 
has been no acquaintance is no guarantee that there 
may not 3'et be one, as the spark said to the gun- 
powder wlien the gunner brought them together. If 
the sefior and the sehorita would deign to examine our 
choir-books," he said to Yalladares, noticing that the 
young people had ceased to converse, and that the 
advocate was about to make a bashful and respectful 
adieu. '' We have here in the coro alto some finely 
illuminated manuscripts, and one is quite at one's ease 
in the silleria." The sacristan threw open the richly 
carved o-ratino; leadinsJi; into the retirement of the choir. 
The silleria were a hundred and hfteen chairs or stalls 
marvellously carved in oak. Seated in two of these 
canopied niches, with the fascinating old choir-books 
before them, subjects of conversation occurred to each, 
and they chatted freely together, as the old sacristan 
had said, " quite at their ease." 

What a benevolent genius he was ! reminding Gero- 
nima, after he thought they had conversed together as 
long as was discreet, of her duenna in the sagrario, and 
hinting to Valladares, as he left, that there were more 
choir-books at his service if the sefior wished to con- 
tinue his investigations. And so it happened that the 
two young people met not infrequently in the old 
cathedral, and talked together with a certain stately 



222 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

dignity as they paced up and down between the Gothic 
sepulchres of early prelates and inquisitors, or lingered 
in friendly corners where the stuffy curtains of the 
confessional partially screened tlieiu from notice, or 
knelt side bv side during the Mass until the faint 
perfume of the incense seemed to breathe a blessing on 
their affection. But their favorite trysting-place was 
the choir. How many of those old nuisic-books they 
turned over together, not knowing whether it was 
magnificat or requiem over which their fingers lingered, 
for their hearts sang jubilate through it all. Here, 
in telling each other of their past lives, they discovered 
where it w^as tliat they had met liefore. 

"• You were so frightened by the ugly little dwarf 
who was sent to take you to King Louis," said Valla- 
dares, •' that when I took you from him you kissed me 
before your lady mother and all the company." 

'' Impossible ! " cried Geronima. 

" And I am about to ask another impossibility." 

'"'Nay, then it must be with my mother's consent this 
time, and my father's as well." 

It was time that Valladares was recalled to liis own 
high ideal of honor and to Spanish notions of etiquette. 
It was at this juncture that the duenna, having finished 
her embroidery, began to think of her own duties ; and 
not seeing her charge in the nave of the church, pro- 
ceeded to search for her in the out-of-the-way corners, 
and came upon the hai)py couple in the choir just 
as Geronima referred Valladares to her father. The 
indignation of the little woman knew no bounds. It 
was for this that Geronima had made up a pretty story 
of an Indian girl in whom she was interested. The 




IN THE CATHP:dRAL. 



AT THE SHRINE OF DEL PILAR. 225 

cabiillero was indeed a savage, a barbarian ; a pity he 
bad not kept his Indian costume. In the midst of her 
tirade she hurried Geronima from the church back to 
the Casa Zaporta, where the affair was discussed in 
solemn family conclave. Cousin Faquita was enraged 
to think that Geronima, as good as betrothed to her 
brother, should so conduct herself ; and Geronima was 
sent to her room in disgrace, with the assurance that 
she should be returned to her family on the morrow. 

As she lay that night in her little bed, thinking over 
the matter in a tumult of mind which was half trouble, 
half joy, she heard the tinkle of a guitar in the street 
below. It was Valladares serenading her in the Span- 
ish fashion. Peering through the iron grating of her 
balcony, she could see him in his black velvet suit, — a 
conspicuous figure against the moonlit wall. A sturdy, 
broad-shouldered man passed through the street. Val- 
ladares spoke to him for a moment, and the man 
obligingly bowed; and Valladares, leaping lightly on 
his back, lifted a rose nearly to her window. By 
stretching an arm through the iron grating, Geronima 
was just able to take it. Springing back, Valladares 
touched his guitar again, and sang : — 

" Dos besos tengo en el alnia 
Que no se apartan de mi ; 
El ultimo de mi madre, 
Y el primero (jue de ti." i 

Geronima was satisfied ; for by this serenade, accord- 
ing to time-honored custom, Valladares announced him- 

^ Deep iu my soul two kisses rest, 
Forgot they ne'er shall be ; 
The last my mother's lips impressed, 
The first I stole from thee. 



226 GliEAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

self her suitor ; and should she return home on the 
morrow, they would probabl}' make the journey at the 
same time, — for Valladares would delay no longer to 
make his application to her parents in due form. 

In their j^ilgrimage to Zaragoza they had not found 
the little pilgrim whom they sought, but they had 
found each other. 

And Monita ? Alas ! Monita was quite forgotten. 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 

" The poor with scrip, the rich with purse, 
They took their chance for better, for worse, 

From many a foreign hind, 
With a scallop-shell in the hat for badge, 

And a pilgrim's staff in hand ; 
And the staff was bored and holed for those 

Who on the tliite could play. 
And thus the merry pilgrim had 

His music on the way." 

The scallop-shell has been the pilgrims' emblem 
since the time of the Crusades ; it is also the emblem 
of Saint James, the patron of pilgrims, and was worn as 
a badge by pilgrims to the Holy Land and to noted 
shrines in Spain and other countries. 

Monita in her convent had seen the nuns preparing 
these shells to be sold as badges, polishing them, drill- 
ing holes in and affixing pins and hooks to them, so 
that they could be easily fastened. They were sold at 
the little bazaar in the convent reception-room to guests 
who intended to make the pilgrimage to Zaragoza, to 
attend the festival of the Virgin on October 12. 

The abbess was justified in her conjecture that hear- 
ing so much about this pilgrimage had excited Monita's 
desire to be a pilgrim ; though, as we know, this desire 
did not spring from a vagabond fondness for a wander- 
ing life, but from a settled purpose which no one would 



228 



GREAT-GKANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 



understand. She had not been hast}^ ; she had waited, 
and possessed her soul in patience, hiboring and study- 
ing, as the nuns bade her. She spoke Spanish now 
with only the slight foreign accent and awkwardness 
of construction which betray an alien. She read with 

ease and g-reediness 
the few books which 
the convent afforded ; 
she believed with sim- 
ple credulity ; she was 
grateful and docile : 
but home ties were 
stronger tlian all 
s, and she longed 




HOW HE USED TO FIGHT THE MOOUS. 



other 

to return with a great 
and consuming desire. 
But first it was neces- 
sary that she should 
be cured ; and this 
she had tried to ex- 
plain to the abbess. 
Strange to say, although this good lady had manifested 
great interest in Monita's lameness, she did not approve 
of her going on a pilgrimage. It never occurred to 
Monita that the saintly lady did not believe that Del 
Pilar could cure her; such heresy, if expressed, might 
have subjected the abbess to the Inquisition. Had not 
one of the nuns told Monita the legends of Saint James, 
and how, when kneeling in great despondency before 
the alabaster pillar at Zaragoza, the Madonna, then 
living in Palestine, was carried through the air by 
angels, and stood on this very pillar to comfort him? 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 229 

Other marvellous legends of Saint James were re- 
lated, of — 

" How he used to fight the Moors 

Upon a milk-white charger. 
Large tales of him the Spaniards tell, 

Munchausen tells no larger ; 
Yet still they worship him in Spain, 
And believe in him with might and main. 

Santiago there they call him ; 
And if any one then had doubted these tales, 

They 'd an Inquisition to maul him." 

It seemed to Monita that she could not stay quietly 
in the convent while multitudes were surging toward 
Zaragoza. Frequently at this season fifty thousand 
pilgrims visited the Virgin's shrine; it was the com- 
mon talk of the convent ; and so one night, instead of 
going to bed, Monita let herself down into the street 
from a window which had been carelessly left unbarred, 
and left the city in such haste that she took the road 
on which Valladares overtook her on the way to the 
Escurial. 

We have seen liow she slipped away from his kindly 
care, and will now follow her as in the gray of early 
morning she skirts the northern suburbs of Madrid, hav- 
ing ascertained from the wife of the gatekeeper of the 
Escurial that Zaragoza lies away to the northeast. She 
had had a good supper, and did not mind a. long walk 
before breakfast ; and she trudged sturdily along little 
frequented cross-roads, avoiding the great thoroughfares 
which led to the city. I3efore noon she had reached 
the highway leading to Alcala de Henares, which she 
had been told was the first town of importance on the 
way to Zaragoza. The certainty that she was now on 



230 GKEAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

the right road clieered her spirits, which were beginning 
to flao; as the sun mounted hitrher and the refreshinsc 
coohiess of the early morning was exclianged for the 
fervid glare of a Spanish noon. Nowhere in the world 
are the changes in the weather more difficult for a 
stranger to bear than in Spain. The night before, 
Monita had been cut to the bone by the piercing wind ; 
now she almost fainted in the stifling heat. Add to 
this the discomfort of the blinding dust scattered by 
the different vehicles and horsemen, and the Ions; con- 
voys of mules driven at a rapid pace by reckless mule- 
teers and arieros. and we can easily understand why 
she limped more slowly, and looked anxiously from 
side to side for .some signs of a spring or brook at 
which to refresh herself. 

So thirsty was she that she presently noticed traces 
of Tnoisture in the middle of the dusty road, as though 
water had been spilled along it from time to time. 
Looking eagerly ahead, she saw a shaggy little Bar- 
bary donkey, wdiich reminded her of dear Peloncillo, 
pacing along under its burden of a number of great 
tinajas, or water-jars, from which, owing to their being 
imperfectly stopped and to the irregular motion of the 
donkey, trickled little streams, — very tantalizing to 
the parched and panting Monita. A woman, accom- 
panied by a little girl, was leading the donkey; and 
Monita, quickening her steps, presently overtook them 
and asked for n draught of water. A cup was tied 
to the handle of one of the jars, and the woman hastily 
complied with Monita's request. She had a swarthy 
complexion, coarse hair, and bold black eyes, but a 
kindly expression ; and although she understood Span- 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 233 

ish, Monita saw at once that she was a foreigner like 
herself. When the girl returned the cup, the woman 
extended it empty, and Monita understood that she was 
a water-seller, and wished to be paid for the service 
she had rendered. The lame girl had a few coins 
in her pocket, left over from her last allowance from 
Senora Ribera, and she cheerfully opened her purse to 
pay the woman, who in her turn, noticing how few the 
coins were, smilingly shook her head and put up the 
cup. It was against the Zincali's faith to take money 
under such circumstances, — 

" A faith 
Taught by no priest, but by their beating hearts, — 
Faith to each other, tlie fideUty 
Of fellow-wanderers in a desert place 
Who share the same dire thirst, and therefore share 
The scanty water." 

Monita soon ascertained that the woman also was 
going to Zaragoza, though not from any desire to beg 
the favor of Del Pilar ; for of all the pilgrims who 
thronged the road at this season, — 

" Some went for payment of a vow 
In time of trouble made, 
And some who found that pilgrimage 
Was a pleasant sort of trade," 

and Antonia, the gypsy water-seller, was of this latter 
class. 

She scanned Monita closely, and said at length, " You 
are not of the Busne (Christians), little sister ; are 
you then a Callee of the Zincali ? " 

'' I know not what people that may be," replied 
Monita. " It is true that I am not Spanish, and that I 
come from over seas." 



234 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

" We gypsies come from over seas also, little sister ; 
we are scattered in many lands. Do you speak the Calo 
language ? " and she addressed a few words to Monita 
in gypsy dialect. 

Monita shook her head. " That is not the lano-aao-e 
of my people," she said sadly. 

" Then perchance you are a Corahai, and come 
from the land of the Moors. I have heard say that 
the Moors possessed this land until the Spaniards- 
drove them forth. If so, you must hate the Busnj even 
as we hate them. May an evil plague destroy the race ! 
You are going to Zaragoza, little sister, and 1 will not 
inquire your business ; but the way is long, and you 
are alone, and there are evil wolves (I mean Christians) 
on the way. If you will journey in our company, you 
are welcome. My ro (husband) Mariano, and my son 
Pepindorio, have gone on to the next town. We meet 
but now and then upon the road, for thus we make- 
more money ; and it is lonely travelling with only the 
chabi (little girl). Do you sing, or play upon the pa- 
jandi (guitar) ? If so, you may make much money on 
your journey ; but if you cannot do this, I will teach 
you to tell baji (fortunes), and the time will pass mer- 
ril}', — for I like your looks, little sister, and you will 
like mine better when you know me more." 

'■' I will go with you," said Monita. She felt so 
lonely that this offer of friendship, even from a gypsy, 
was very grateful. 

It was now the hottest part of the day ; and having 
reached a cross-road, Antonia halted her donkey and 
took from its back a great white umbrella, a chair, and 
some pieces of board, with which she proceeded to con- 




A BURDEN OF GREAT WATER-JARS. 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 237 

struct a table. On this .she arranged her water-jars, 
making a sort of rude way-side booth. The little girl 
hobbled the donkey ; and then all took refuge under the 
meagre shade afforded by the umbrella quietly to doze 
away an afternoon siesta while awaiting such custom 
as might present itself. Antonia took from some fold 
of her garment a crust of bread, which she gave to her 
chabi ; and seeing that Monita regarded it hungrily, 
though she said nothing, the gypsy presented her with 
a similar piece and a morsel of mouldy cheese. ''The 
ro will have a good dinner ready for us at Alcala," 
said she. " He has our dog Fandango with him, the 
country about Alcala is stocked with rabbits, and who 
so good a rabbit-hunter as Fandango?" 

Thoughts of the savory rabbit-stew to come sus- 
tained Monita ; and later, wlien the sun had declined 
somewhat, and a cooling breeze sprung up, Antonia 
struck her tent, and the little party proceeded on its 
march. It was night when they reached Alcala de 
Henares, "the castle of the rivers," at this time an 
imposing university town, the rival of Salamanca. 
Cardinal Ximenes had made the university his heir, 
and took great interest during his life in erecting 
new buildings and enriching it liberally from his in- 
come. Francis I. of France, who was once entertained 
there by its eleven thousand students, said that "• one 
Spanish monk had done what it would have taken a 
line of kings in France to accomplish." Ximenes did 
one great thing which we should hardly have expected 
of him, knowing how as Inquisitor he burned so many 
Arabian books and manuscripts, — he caused the Bible 
to be printed at Alcala at immense cost and at the risk 



238 



GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 



of the papal displeasure, and he lived to see the last 
sheet in type. Leo X. after the death of Ximenes 
limited the edition to six hundred copies ; but the 
seed was sown which was later to overthrow the 
power of Rome in Spain. 




MARIANO AND HIS SWEETMEATS. 

The streets of the town were thronged with stu- 
dents as the water-sellers entered it. They clattered 
noisily about, laughing, singing, jesting among them- 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 239 

selves, and distributing formal bows in the direction 
of pretty seiioritas who appeared in the balconies or 
walked the streets in company with strict duennas. 
The wine-shops were open, fruit and flower venders 
crowded the narrow side-walks, and among these Monita 
noticed a galliard Spaniard seated beside a small table, 
on which were displayed fruits and sweetmeats, small 
pasties and azucarillos, and rose-flavored cakes rolled 
in the shape of a cigar. 

This man regarded Antonia with a quizzical expres- 
sion as she trudged by in the centre of the street, calling 
hoarsely, " Agua, agua ! Quien quiere agua, agua mas 
fria como la nieve ? " (Water, water ! Who wants water, 
water colder than snow ?) He looked at Monita too, with 
a quick glance in which shrewd inquiry was blended 
with a kindly compassion for the drooping figure which 
stumbled painfully along. The little girl loitered be- 
hind and blew him a kiss ; but he appeared not to recog- 
nize her, and the mother shook the child roughly as 
they turned the corner, saying, " How often I have told 
you not to notice your father when we pass him thus ! 
That is Mariano, my ro," she added to Monita. " Is he 
not a handsome man ? No one would suspect, did they 
not see us together, that he was a gypsy." 

They passed through the town, and coming round 
behind the university, knocked at the gate of a ruinous 
and apparently deserted house. An old crone admitted 
them into a stable where a mule was munching at a 
manger. The animal saluted the donkey with a pro- 
longed bray ; they were evidently old comrades. An- 
tonia tethered the donkey beside the mule, and fumbled 
a while at a cart which took up the greater part of the 



240 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

room. They then passed into an inner room, in the 
centre of which a fire was blazing merrily on the stone 
floor, the smoke circling about the apartment and find- 
ino; its way out finally through a hole in the roof. 
The old woman, talking all the while in the gypsy 
dialect, produced a rabbit which Antonia fastened to a 
spit that dangled down from the darkness over the fire. 
At the same time she prepared a sauce in a pipkin, and 
the savory odor which soon filled the room made poor 
fasting Monita feel quite faint. She retreated into a 
corner and lay down, with her head on a saddle. 

Presently Pepindorio entered. He was a tall youth, 
with features more gypsy than Spanish ; he wore a 
voluminous and very ragged cloak, and a gorro, or 
purse-shaped student's cap of scarlet worsted, in which 
he kept his cigarettes, his luncheon, and, one might 
almost say, his superfluoTis wardrobe. He regarded 
Monita with a stare which had nothing of incivility 
in its intention, for it expressed only curiosity and com- 
passion ; and though he asked no questions, he never 
took his eyes from her face throughout the entire 
evening. Monita feigned to be asleep ; but whenever 
she peeped out from under her arm she saw the great 
brown eyes still fixed upon her by a sort of fascina- 
tion. Mariano came in shortly after, and the rabbit 
was taken from the fire and placed in a large dish on 
the floor. The gypsies squatted about it, and Monita 
needed no second invitation to approach. Antonia 
tore the rabbit into bits with her fingers, and poured 
the sauce ove,r it. " You will like this sauce," she 
said : " I learned to make it among the Corahai, even 
in the land of the Moors. It is seasoned with franji- 




HE WORE A VOLUMINOUS AXD RAOOKD CLOAK. 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 243 

paui and sweetened, and there is not a crumb of 
Busne garlic therein." 

Pepindorio cut a loaf of bread into large manchets, 
and Antonia, placing a piece of the rabbit on each of 
these extemporized plates, passed them about. Never 
had anything tasted so delicious to Monita. Having 
eaten her hll, she retired once more to her saddle-pillow, 
and Antonia began to play upon the guitar. Lulled 
by its strumming, the Indian girl soon fell asleep. She 
was drowsily conscious that Antonia covered her with a 
woolly sheepskin, and then dropped off again. When 
she awoke, the old woman was snoring loudly, and 
Pepindori(3, Mariano, and his wife were talking in a 
low voice beside the dying embers. She could make 
out that they were speaking of her, and that jNlariano 
was objecting to her company on account of the ex- 
pense it would be to them. He was not very obstinate, 
however, for when Pepindorio took her part, and 
pleaded that she was alone and friendless, the father 
replied that it was no affair of his, and that they 
might do as they pleased. Monita's heart leaped; 
here was kindness and hospitality even among the very 
poor : how much goodness there was in the world after 
all! The gypsies continued their conversation, Mariano 
saying that he should not be with them much upon 
this trip, and that tlie shaggy donkey was a much 
swifter beast than his own mule, in case there was any 
running away to be done. Monita was sure, too, that 
he urged Pepindorio to come with him, and spoke of 
his trade of donkey clipping and shoeing, and of a good 
chance, Monita thought, to steal horses ; and Pepin- 
dorio replied in the gypsy dialect, and the father flew 



244 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

into a rage, and the word " contrabandista " was ban- 
died between them. Antonia interposed to make peace, 
whereupon Monita slept again, and was only awakened 
by the chabi shaking her as the broad light of day 
streamed through a grated window high up in the wall. 
The girl was inclined to think the conversation which 
she had overheard in the night only a dream ; but 
Mariano had disappeared, and with him the shaggy 
donkey. Antonia explained that he had joined some 
muleteers who were conveying a great many skins of 
fiery Spanish wine to France. He would return with 
much money, she said ; but Pepindorio had a scornful 
expression, and her own face was sad for many a day 
thereafter. All their effects were now bundled into the 
cart, and Antonia, w^ith her little daughter and Monita, 
mounted within it behind the rheumatic mule, while 
Pepindorio trudged beside them, staff in hand, on their 
pilgrim way. They wandered on together from town 
to town, selling water on the highway, and camping 
at night beside their cart. Sometimes Antonia would 
leave the cart in a secluded dell on the outskirts of a 
town, and enter with her guitar in the character of 
a ballad-singer. At Guadalajara, the Wada-1-hajarah 
(river of stones, an ancient stronghold of the Moors), 
she sang the legends of the Cid, by whose friend Alvar 
Faiiez de Minaya the town is said to have been con- 
quered from the Moors. The legends were well chosen, 
and the people followed the poor ballad-singer, de- 
lighted to hear their hero praised. Some of the ballads 
Monita had not heard before, and the following, which 
in spirit is not unlike our favorite Sir Launfal, greatly 
pleased her : — 




ANTONIA WOULD ENTER WITH HER GUITAR AS A BALLAD-SINGER. 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 24T 



THE CID AND THE LEPER. 

He has ta'en some twenty gentlemen along with him to go, 
For he will pay that ancient vow he to Saint James doth owe; 
To Compostella where the shrine doth by the altar stand, 
The good Rodrigo de Bivar is riding through tlie land. 

And there in middle of the path a leper did appear. 
In a deep slough the leper lay ; to help would none come near, 
Though earnestly he thence did cry : " For God our Saviour's sake, 
From out this fearful jeopardy a Christian brother take." 

When Roderick heard that piteous word, he from his horse came down^ 
For all they said no stay he made, that noble champion ; 
He reached his hand to pluck him forth, of fear was nc account, 
Then mounted on his steed of worth, and made the lej)er mount. 

Behind him rode the leprous man. When to their hostelrie 
They came, he made him eat with him at ta.ble cheerf iiUv ; 
While all the rest from that poor guest Avith loathing shrunk away, 
To his own bed the wretch he led ; beside him there he lay. 

" I sleep not," quoth Rodrigo ; " but tell me who art thou, 
For in the midst of darkness, much light is on thy brow ? " 
" I am the holy Lazarus, — I come to speak with thee ; 
I am the same poor leper thou savedst for charity. 

" Not vain the trial, nor in vain thy victory hath been ; 
God favors thee for that my pain thou didst relieve yestreen : 
There shall be honor with thee in battle and in peace. 
Success in all thy doings, and plentiful increase. 

" Strong enemies shall not prevail thy greatness to undo ; 

Thy name shall make men's cheeks full pale. Christians and ]\roslems too. 

A death of honor shalt thou die ; such grace to thee is given. 

Thy soul shall part victoriously, and be received in heaven." * 

"Where did you learn this ballad ?" Monita asked. 

"From the old man who taught me to play upon 
the guitar. He was a Christian — whom the Evil One 
destroy! — and he taught me many songs of this kind. 

^ Ancient Spanish Ballads, translated by J. G. Lockhart. 



248 GllEAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

When I sang them at home I got blows for them ; but 
I soon foinid that the Busne liked to hear them, and 
so I sing them in their foros." 

She sang the song in front of the palace where 
Cardinal Mendoza died, — the warrior-prelate who 
helped Ferdinand and Isabella to conquer Granada. 
The palace belonged still (if Monita could but have 
known this!) to the Mendozas, — the very family of 
which her Ijeloved Fray Ignacio was an offshoot ; 
and a lady looked down upon her from a window of 
the Sala de Linajis. or saloon of the genealogies of 
the proud jNIendozas, who for the sake of that mission- 
ary monk would have taken Monita into the castle 
and have done for her more than the Cid could do 
for the leper. But no good angel was there to whisper 
to Monita that the lady shading her eyes with the 
yellow fan, above the armorial shields and satyrs and 
strange carved lions with hedgehog heads, was Fray 
Ignacio's only sister. The lady threw her a silver coin, 
thinking, '' What sad eyes that girl has ! " and Monita 
passed out of the town with her gypsy friends. 

The road was more and more crowded with pilgrims 
now, for the great date was approaching. Some were 
so bigoted that, recognizing a gypsy caravan, they would 
not take water from it even when thirsty. Monita 
did not understand this prejudice. When travelling 
with the shaggy donkey before Mariano took it from 
them, Monita had heard some children admire it, and 
ask their motlier where the gypsies obtained so pretty 
an animal. The woman replied in words only slightly 
different from those which George Eliot puts into the 
mouth of the silversmith in the " Spanish Gypsy : " 




A LADY LOOKED DOWX FEOM A WINDOW. 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 251 

" God sent the gypsies wandering 
In punishment because they sheltered not 
Our Lady and Saint Joseph, and no doubt 
Stole the small ass they fled with into Egypt." 

Was this true ? Did Antonia's ancestors refuse to 
grant hospitality to the Christ-child when he was 
carried by his parents into Egypt ? Monita was sure 
that if Antonia had been there she would have taken 
down the coolest water-jar, and fed him on her choicest 
azucarillos, while Pepindorio would have shod their 
donkey for nothing. There were a great many things 
which puzzled Monita. She still believed fervently all 
that Fray Ignacio had taught her ; but she had found 
that there were many people here in Spain who did 
not believe as he did. For instance, these gypsies ; 
and at Medina Celi they were joined by an old man, 
also a pilgrim, on account of the opportunities which 
pilgrimage gave for trade. He told them that he was 
a maker of wax-candles, and had a shop at Siguenza, 
just under the shadow of the great cathedral. "I 
make beautiful tapere," he said, '^ suitable for the 
shrine of the Virgin, and wreathed with garlands of 
wax flowers colored to the life. I have them of every 
size, from those for a child to offer, to great pro- 
cessional candles so heavy that a man soon tires of 
carrying them. I have all these varieties here in my 
cart, and I have also a most varied and beautiful 
collection of wax legs in every stage of dislocation, 
disease, and deformity." 

" What are they for ? " Monita asked, much puzzled. 

" They are to sell to fools who wish to fasten them 
as votive offerings to the shrine of Del Pilar. As I 



252 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

come back I shall have a stock of crutches to sell for 
those cripples who have left theirs too prematurely at 
the same shrine." Then noticing for the first time 
that Monita was lame, he changed his manner and tone 
to one of wheedling. '' If the senorita would deign to 
examine my stock of legs, she will doubtless find one to 
match her own dainty limb. Here is one shortened by 
hip-disease, and another set in the most natural man- 
ner in splints, as for compound fracture. I spent an 
hour in the hospital studying the first ; and one of the 
most distinguished surgeons in Spain showed me how 
to bandage tliis one. The Virgin could not but be 
pleased by such a ravishing work of art." 

" You do not believe what you are saying," Monita 
replied, looking the old man straight in the eye. 

" True, senorita ; I am of a race which has had little 
cause to believe in miracles of mercy on the part of 
the idols which the Spaniard worships. And when 
were gypsies known to believe in them ? I was de- 
ceived by your crutch, which, I see, is assumed only to 
touch the hearts, or rather the purses, of those who 
think to gain reward by liberality to pilgrims. It was 
a clever thought, and cleverly executed. You limp 
very natiu'ally." 

Monita turned away from him and asked Pepindorio, 
" Is that man a gypsy ? " 

" No," replied the young man ; " he is not of our 
people, but of a race more miserable than ours. He is 
a converted Jew, who has slipped once through the 
clutches of the Inquisition by leaving his fortune 
behind him. If they catch him again, he will not get 
off so easily." 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL 



255 



" Little sister," he said again, as Monita was limping 
beside him to rest her limbs, cramped in the cart, 
"little sister, I fear that you are indeed trusting 
to this image of the Busne to cure you, and that you 
will be bitterly disappointed. Far in the land of the 
Corahai there dwells a Moorish physician of great skill, 
who 1 am sure has power to cure you. He gave me a 
recipe for making an ointment with which I cure the 
stiffened joints of horses. Take this box and try its 
virtue ; but if it heal you not, still do not despair, for I 
doubt not that Abarbenel has some other medicament 
which will make you strong once more." 

Pepindorio was very kind and gentle during all these 
days of pilgrimage. There was something about him 
which reminded Monita of Pope. He was not always 
with his mother and the two girls, but left them from 
time to time to follow his trade of a blacksmith in the 
towns through which they passed ; but when he had 
clipped all the donkeys, and the horses were newly 
shod, he would speedily overtake them on their march, 
and they would see him sitting by their evening camp- 
fire, or marching by their side on the road, with no word 
of greeting, but quite as if he had been there all the 
while. There was always an increase of gayety when 
he was with them, for the mother was happier, and 
strummed her lightest measures on the guitar, and 
he brought always a trifling gift for the chabi and for 

Monita. 

The party had been toiling one day without him up 
the hilly road which approaches Calatayud (the castle 
^f Job), — an ancient Moorish citadel crowning ''a 
bold sierra, a mass of schist, slaty rocks, and limestone 



256 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

which divides the basins of the Ebro and the Duero, 
catches the clouds, and remains to this day the dwell- 
ing of vEolns and Pulnionia." The castle crowning the 
crnmbling cliffs had a fierce and sullen look, and An- 
tonia and the girls were very weary, while the sharp 
wind tore around the crags and flapped the covers of 
their cart. 

'' No one will take us in there, mother," said Monita ; 
" had we not better camp in the ravine at the foot of 
the castle ? " 

" Nay," replied Antonia, " there are gypsy caves in 
the hill on the other side of the town, where we shall 
find shelter, and Pepindorio is without doubt in one 
of them before us ; for there we are to hear news from 
his father, and Pepe is as anxious as 1 to know how he 
fares." 

The cave-dwellings reminded Monita somewhat of 
the cliff-dwellings in her own countr}-. though they 
were much ruder, and the cliffs in which they were ex- 
cavated were not so high or steep. They consisted of 
caves, the fronts of which were walled up with brick 
or stone, a door, and in some rare instances a window, 
being left in the front. Antonia unharnessed the mule ; 
and loading the animal with the contents of the cart, 
drove it up the narrow pathway, some half-naked 
children running before her and leading her to a cave 
Avithin which a cheery fire was burning. A figure 
busied in fastening an iron kettle over the fire turned as 
they darkened the entrance. It was Pepindorio, and 
his face lighted with pleasure as he saw them. '' I 
have a good stew ready, little mother," he said, "and 
a can of coffee and bread. Sit down and repose your- 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 257 

self; all will soon be ready." This was new thought- 
fulness on Pepindorio's part ; for though he certainly 
loved his mother, he did not consider it his place to 
wait upon her. The new-comers were chilled through, 
and they approached the fire shivering. Pepindorio 
caught up his great-cloak, and wrapped it around both 
his mother and Monita. ■' We are of one people," he 
said ; '' let us be also of one family." 

Antonia embraced Monita under the cloak, and spoke 
to her son in the gypsy speech. After supper she 
wrapped a blanket about her, and lay down in the 
manger at which the mule was tethered. Pepindorio 
took up the guitar and played and sang gypsy songs 
until the daylight faded and only the glimmering 
embers lighted the cave. ' After a time he laid aside 
the guitar and came across to Monita's side of the fire. 
The chabi lay asleep, with her head in Monita's lap. 

" Little sister," said Pepindorio, '' my mother and 
I go no nearer to Zaragoza than this place. My father 
has been taken by the Busne, and is there in prison. 
Turn about with us, and we will flee together into the 
land of the Corahai, even to the land of the Moors, 
and we will find the Moorish physician of whom I 
spoke, who will recover you of your lameness ; and we 
will live together in the land of the Corahai, and will 
return no more to this accursed land ; for I have heard 
you say often that you were weary of it, and longed to 
begone." 

"That is true, Pepindorio," replied Monita; "but I 
cannot go to another strange land, however beautiful. 
My heart is in my own country, among my own people. 
It is there that I mijst go." 



258 GREAT-GRANDMOTIIER'S GIRLS. 

Pepindorio was silent for a moment. ''Be it as you 
say, little sister," lie said at last. " There are Zincali 
in all countries, — doubtless your people are of our race ; 
and if not, then will I be of your people, and I will be 
the ro, and you the romi." 

" No, no," Monita said softly ; '' tliis cannot be, Pepin- 
dorio. My people would not accept you ; and besides — " 

'^ And besides, there is some one else there whom you 
would rather have as your ro?" the young man asked 
jealously, at the same time striking savagely into the 
earthen floor of the cave with his knife. 

i' Forgive me, dear Pepindorio, but that is the true 
reason." 

" Then farewell. Tell my mother that I have gone 
to join the smugglers who will make the attempt to- 
morrow night to rescue my father. Tell her to make 
haste to the South of Spain, for it will not be safe for 
any gypsies in these foros after to-morrow. I will find 
her again in Granada if I escape." Abruptly, silently, 
he left the cave. The air from the open door quickened 
the fire a little, and Monita sat for some time before it, 
thinking confusedly of her own past and future. After 
a time, what Pepindorio had said of his own plans began 
to take shape in her mind ; and fearing that he was 
about to embark upon a dangerous enterprise, she 
stepped to the manger, and awakening Antonia, gave 
her his message. 

The woman comprehended that Monita had rejected 
her son, and a look of deep trouble came into her face. 
" Stay here," she said, at the same time rapidly untying 
the mule ; " and if I find him and bring him, all may 
yet be well." 



THE SCALLOP-SHELL. 261 

Monita waited until dawn, when Antonia came back, 
looking haggard and wretched. " I was too late," she 
cried ; '• he has gone to his death, and it is your fault." 
She hastily gathered together her effects, carried them 
to the cart at the foot of the hill, harnessed her mule, 
and drove rapidly away, leaving Monita standing quite 
forlorn. The girl heaved a sigh, and walked slowly on 
in the direction of Zaragoza. She had not many miles 
to go now, and the thought that her pilgrimage was 
nearly accomplished kept her courage up ; but her heart 
was very sore at the thought of having wounded these 
good friends. As she mounted one of the long, dusty 
slopes of the sierra, the diligence from Zaragoza dashed 
by her, the muleteers cracking their whips, the arrieros 
running beside the animals and throwing stones. The 
great vehicle lumbered and reeled round the curve, 
and the outside passengers were nearly thrown from 
their seats. 

Monita looked up half blinded with dust, and did not 
know that her kindest friend, Geronima Montezuma, sat 
within, and Jose Valladares on the roof, both speeding 
away from Zaragoza as fast as love and the Madrid 
stage could carry them. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

FAITH IN WORKS. 

My faith begins where your religion ends, — 
In service to mankind. This single thread 
Is given to guide us through the maze of life. 
You start at one end, I the other. You, 
With eyes fixed only upon CJod, begin 
With lofty faith ; and seeking but to know 
And do His will who guides the universe, 
You find the slender and mysterious thread 
Leads down to earth, with God's divine command 
To help your fellow-men. But this to me 
Is something strangely vague ; I see alone 
The fellow-men, the suffering fellow-men. 
Yet with a cup of water in my hand 
For all who thirst, who knows but I one day, 
Following faithfully the slender thread. 
May reach its other end, and kneel at last 
With you in heaven at the feet of God? 

Alice Wellington Rollins, 

Pepindorio was right, — Monita was doomed to dis- 
appointment. Hers was the experience of the good 
priest of whom Browning writes, — 

" To fast 
With arms extended, waiting ecstasy, 
But getting cramps instead." 

She came trustfully with the other pilgrims into the 
great church, and knelt before the long-adored shrine. 




AT HER SECOND STEP SHE TOTTEKED AND FELL. 



FAITH IN WORKS. 265 

What spell held her eyes ? The Holy Virgin seemed 
to them not some vision of heavenly beauty like that 
in Murillo's studio, but a hideous little black doll, 
a monkey or mummy, wrapped in gorgeous brocade. 
Still she knelt, feeling that she must be under some 
spell of the Evil One, till a priest anointed her with 
the miracle-working oil from the great silver lamp 
which swung censer-like before the shrine. The sacred 
words were spoken which Fray Ignacio had often told 
her the Virgin could never hear without stretching her 
hand to save, — •' Et pro nobis Christum exora." The 
miracle must have been performed, and Monita in sim- 
ple faith sprang from her knees without grasping her 
crutch ; but at her second step she tottered and fell, an 
old woman assisted her to rise, and she looked at the 
officiating priest with a wondering, almost reproachful 
gaze. He knew what it meant, for he had seen it in 
the face of many a devotee, and he turned his back 
upon her, chanting more loudly, to shut out that pa- 
thetic look. It seemed to her at that supreme moment 
before Del Pilar that she had not only lost all hope 
of restoration to health, but that all her religious faith, 
the faith taught by Fray Ignacio, and so firmly be- 
lieved, in spite of all opposition, had gone out and left 
her in utter darkness. 

Stunned and hopeless, she stooped for her crutch and 
staggered out of the church. In the crowd of beggars 
at the door stood the converted Jew, crying his wax 
limbs. '' You have not left your crutch inside," he 
said significantly ; " then I shall not be able to furnish 
you with a new one. Shall we make the homeward 
journey in company ? When do you start ? " 



266 



GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 



" I do not know," Monita answered ; " let me sit 
down beside you and thinly." 

'' Do so," replied the Jew ; " for you look pale. May 
all the holy prophets preserve me ! she has fainted." 

He drew her into the shade, fanned her, chafed her 




THK CKOWI) OF P.K(i(iARS AT THE DOOR. 

hands, and drove away the beggars who pressed curi- 
ously to the spot ; but do what he might, he could not 
revive her, and, seriously alarmed, he rushed into the 
church and brought out the sacristan. " Who is she ? " 
asked this functionary as he dashed holy water in the 
girl's face. 



FAITH IN WORKS. 26 T 

" She is an Indian girl from New Spain, with whom 
I chanced to make a part of the pilgrimage." 

" An Indian girl ! " replied the sacristan. " Is her 
name by chance Monita ? " 

At the familiar word the poor girl opened her e3'es 
and asked feebly, "Did some one call me?" 

" Santiago preserve me ! " exclaimed the sacristan ; 
" it w^as then no subterfuge after all. Do you know 
a gentleman named Don Jose Sarmiento Valladares, 
and a lady who is called the Princess of Tula?" 

A bright smile lighted Monita's face, and she tried 
to rise. " Let me go to them," she said. 

" You are hardly able to do that just now," replied 
the sacristan ; •' but I will take you to the hospital of 
the good nuns in the next street, and will write to 
your friends and tell them where you are. You have 
been sun-struck, or have gone too long fasting. It 
often happens that pilgrims faint on the church-steps, 
— sometimes they die here; it is a good place to die, 
the way is very short to heaven." 

Cheering her, as he imagined, by such lively conver- 
sation, the old man had her taken once more to the 
cool quiet of a convent dormitory. 

Monita knew nothing of the kind care of the nuns, 
for brain-fever had set in, and for many days the 
balance fluttered between life and death ; but at length 
the scale settled surely toward life, and Sister Mercedes 
saw that the crisis was past. How beautiful it was for 
the weary girl to lie there and rest ! something had 
troubled her, but she would not try to think what it 
had been. There were kind human hearts in the world 
still, and God was good. The old faith had received its 



268 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

death-blow. Never again could she kneel before an 
image or picture of Mary ; never again sing in her 
honor the dear old Latin hymns. It was all a lying 
mununery ; but Fray Ignacio was good and true, though 
the religion which he taught, and which she knew he be- 
lieved, was a lie. The crash and downfall of her faith 
€ould not sweep away her belief in human devotion and 
sincerity, or her confidence that since God had inspired 
such noble and loving hearts, then God nuist be a being 
infinitely loving beyond all human thought. In this faith 
she rested and was saved, — saved from despair and, as 
surely as the mind affects the body, from actual death. 
When she saw that her patient could bear it. Sister 
Mercedes read Monita a letter from Geronima Monte- 
zuma, expressing great delight that she was found at 
last. The letter ran as follows : — 

Thou art to come to me, my friend, so soon as tlioii art able 
to travel by diligence, and the worthy Don Jos^ Valladares 
will come to fetch thee ; for this is all settled with the abbess 
of the convent here in Madrid and with thy former patroness, 
Doiia Ribera of Seville, who has resigned thee into my hands, 
if so be thou art content to rest there. And this methinks 
thou wilt do the more willingly, seeing that thou wilt be also 
under the guardianship of Don Jose, with whom I am shortly 
to be wedded, the King having approved our union, as also 
have my i)arents. 

This, indeed, is the reason why I cannot at this time come 
unto thee, for I have quarrelled with my cousins at Zaragoza 
by reason of this alliance, and they would not now receive 
me into their house ; moreover, I ;nn surrounded by makers of 
gowns and other finery, and there are visits of ceremony both 
to the family of my betrothed and to the Court, for the King 
hath showered honors upon us. So do thy diligence to recover, 




A GYPSY BEAUTY. 



FAITH IN VVOKKS. 271 

for this marriage is to take place speedily, and I would have 
thee witness it, for thou art to be my own maid and dwell 
with me henceforward and forever right sisterly. 
And so may Our Blessed Lady speed thy recovery ! 
Thine, 

Geronima. 

Monita did recover rapidly, and was at the wedding. 
She heard the joyful clangor of the wedding-bells, and 
saw the streets strewn with rushes to the church-door, 
and the balconies hung with tapestr}' and gay mantles ; 
and she recalled one of Antonia's ballads descriptive of 
the Cid's wedding : — 

" Within bis hall of Burgos the King prepares a feast ; 
He makes his preparation for many a noble guest. 
It is a joyful city, it is a gallant day, 
'T is the Campeador's wedding ; and who will bide away? 

" Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate ; 
Behind him comes Buy Diaz in all his bridal state. 
The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go ; 
For the nuiltitude of people their steps must needs be slow. 

" The King had taken order that they should rear an arch, 
From house to house all over, in the way that they must march ; 
They have hung it all with lances and shields and glittering helms 
Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms. 

*' They have scattered olive-branches and rushes on the street, 
And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador's feet ; 
With tapestry and broidery their balconies between, 
To do his bridal honor, their walls the burghers screen. 

" They lead the bulls before them, all covered o'er with trappings ; 
The little boys pursue them with hootings and with, clappings ; 
The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing 
Amidst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing. 

^' With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter, 
They fill the streets of Burgos, — and the Devil he comes after ; 
For the King has hired the horned fiend for twenty maravedis, 
And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies. 



272 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

" Then comes the bride Xhnena, the King he holds her hand ; 
And the Queen ; and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land. 
All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying. 
But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there is lying." ^ 

The King sent one of his royal carriages to take the 
bridal party to the chnrchj and gave Valladares the 
ereat cross of Santiago, which the latter had envied as 
a child. What Charles had heard of Captain Ziiniga's 
career in New Mexico had not pleased him. and he was 
all the readier to approve this marriage with his favor- 
ite, Valladares, on hearing that the Captain also had 
aspired to the hand of the Princess of Tula. 

'' Be patient and w^ait," he said to the bridegroom. 
" You are now, by virtue of your marriage, Count de 
Montezuma. Spain owes something to that name, and 
at my earliest opportunity I intend to send you out ta 
the Indies as viceroy of Mexico. Such things cannot 
be done, even by a king, with a scratch of the pen, 
so do not be in haste to leave our society." 

The roj'al promise filled Geronima with delight. 
" Did I not say, when we first met, that we should some- 
day go to Mexico together ? " she said to Monita. 

" ' Some day ' may be a great way off,'' Monita re- 
plied, with a wistful smile. 

" But in the mean time you have me," cried Gero- 
nima. " You surely do not wish to leave me now that 
you have so recently found me ?" 

'' No, dear lady; but if the King would only hasten ta 
send us out together ! For T fear that my people need 
you, and even little me." 

"Perhaps we can help your people more here than 

' Ancient Spanish Ballads, translated by J. G. Lockhart. 



FAITH IN WORKS. 



273 



there," Geroiiima 
replied thoughtful- 
ly. " The Spanish 
people are kind at 
heart ; they do not 
know how the In- 
dians are abused, or 
they would not suf- 
fer it. I shall have 
to be 



occasion 



m 



society a great deal 2 
now ; and while my '^ 
guests sip their § 
chocolate and flut- ^ 
ter their fans, in- a 
stead of the gossip § 
of which men ac- 3 
cuse us, we will plan « 
noble schemes of ■< 
philanthropy. You ^ 
shall help in the ^ 
good work too. Mo- ^ 
nita, for you shall | 
repeat to us the 
story of your own 
life, and we will see 
whether the country- 
women of Isabella 
have lost all inter- 
est in America." 

" Ah ! that is in- 
deed religion," said 




274 GREAT-GEANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

Monita. " Fray Ignacio used to tell us that it consisted 
in simply following Christ, in doing kind things to 
every one, and especially to those who are in trouble. 
Religion in this country seems to be a very different 
thing from that, judging from the experience of the 
Moors, the Gypsies, the Jews, and the Indians — " 

"Hush! hush !" cried Geronima ; "the Inquisition! 
It has ears to hear even what we do not say in our 
bed-chambers." 

" Yes, the Inquisition ! You call that religion ! " 

" Nay, hush ! we wall not speak of that. Our holy 
religion does indeed teach us what Fray Ignacio told 
you. If you do kind and unselfish deeds, it is proof 
that you are a child of God and of his Christ. So 
strive not to put yourself outside bis Church, and 
under the condemnation of his servants, by wilful 
words. There are doubtless abuses in the Church, 
which God will judge ; but meddle not with them, 
unless you are very sure that God has called 3^ou to 
that special work. And I think he has something else 
for us to do, Monita." 

Very nobly the little lady tried to do her w^ork. The 
young couple had decided to spend the following summer 
in a Moorish villa at Granada, than which no lovelier 
spot exists in all the world. The Court spent a part of 
the hot season in the cool apartments of the iVlhambra 
and in the great palace which Charles Y. erected within 
its walls ; and it became the fashionable thing to flock 
to the little salon of the Mexican princess and hear 
her talk about America and the Indians. 

Was it that her impassioned appeal to the justice 
and humanity of the Spaniard sounded like mockery 



FAITH IN WORKS. 277 

in this beautiful room, decorated like a jewel-box, in 
which luxurious Moorish dames had taken their pleas- 
ure, and from which they had so lately and cruelly 
been driven ? Or was it simply that all the religious 
zeal of the day was concentrated, as by the focus of a 
great burning-glass, in the fires of the Inquisition, and 
that self-sacrifice for the sake of doing good to others 
(plenty of keenest self-sacrifice there was in the way 
of bringing dear ones to the stake), and that charity, 
sweetest of Christian virtues, was out of fashion in 
Spain ? Or was it simply that the Indians were far 
away, and other interests nearer ? Whatever may have 
been the reason, the noble ladies heard Geroninia's im- 
passioned appeals and Monita's story of simple pathos 
with keen appreciation, and gave plentiful applause for 
its literary merit, as though it were an entertainment of 
troubadours, or as a modern New York or Boston audi- 
ence will listen to the story of some returned mission- 
ary or messenger of God whose heart is all on fire to 
found a school to educate tlie much-wronged Indians 
of this very tribe to-day. 

Monita saw by the disheartened look which gradually 
succeeded her mistress's voung enthusiasm that she was 
not effecting what she wished. No officers were sent 
out who should see that the laws were administered 
with fairness. Even the King liad said, '^' I am sick 
and tired of hearing about these Indians ; if Dona 
Geronima does not cease her iteration on this weari- 
some subject, I shall not wait for the vicegerency of 
Mexico to become vacant, but shall speed her to her 
own country without title or revenue." After this 
expression of the royal feeling on the subject the salons 



278 



GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 



in tlie Moorish villa were discreetly ended. There 
were no more dissertations on Ferdinand, Isabella, and 
Columbus, or on Cortez ; and the longing in Monita's 
heart to see her kindred grew stronger as she saw that 
she was doing them no good by remaining away. One 

result, however, had 
been accomplished, 
— the miracle which 
Del Pilar could not 
perform. Nature 
was gradually ef- 
fecting : the crip- 
pled limb was 
growing longer and 
stronger; she 
walked now with- 
out her crutches, 
hopping nimbly 
with only a slight 
limp up and down 
the long hill that 
led from the town 
to the Alhambra. 
One daj^ a letter 
came from Fray 
Ignacio, tellinghow 
matters were going from bad to worse in the pueblos, 
and how he had been banished to Patmos, as he called 
the rock of Acorn a, which rose not unlike an island 
from the sea of tlu; prairie. He did not mention the 
people of San Juan by name, for he did not know that 
Monita was with his friend ; but the girl divined that 




THE WINE-GATE. 



FAITH IN WORKS. 281 

trouble must have befallen them if they had lost their 
protector. Fray Ignacio. 

" I must go to them," she said to herself as she 
passed the Wine-Gate, one of the most beautiful of the 
Alhambra towers ; '' if my mistress cannot go at present, 
then I must go alone." Some one just within the pillar- 
divided window which overlooked the gate was singing 
a little love-song full of loneliness and yearning. It 
seemed to her that the cry was Pope's, and that it had 
come to her from across the sea. The song was such 
a one as George Eliot makes Juan sing : — 

" The world is great : the birds all fly from me, 
The stars are golden fruit upon a tree 
All out of reach : my little sister went, 
And 1 am lonely. 

*' The world is great : I tried to mount the hill 
Above the pines, where the light lies so still ; 
But it rose higher : little Lisa went, 
And I am lonely. 

"The world is great: the wind comes rushing by; 
I wonder where it comes from? Sea-birds cry 
And hurt my heart : my little sister went. 
And I am louel}'." 

The voice sounded nearer ; the singer was coming 
down the staircase of the Wine-Tower. Monita held her 
breath ; she almost expected to see Pope emerge from 
the shadowy doorway. A well-known face and figure 
did appear, but it was not Pope, it was Pepindorio. 

^' My mother told me you were with the senora 
yonder, and that you often pass this way," he said. 
"You do not look glad to see me,; but you have not 



282 



GREAT-GRANDMOrilER'S GIRLS. 



been in a hurry to go to that other one over the sea 
that you told me of." 

"No, I have not been in a hurry," Monita replied; 
*' it is time that I was gone. You do right to remind 
me, and I will go." 

"He may not be so constant," Pepindorio replied 
with a sneer. " Years have passed ; you may not lind 
your lover when you reach that far country." 




PEPINDORIO STRKTCIIED OX THE COPING OF THE QUAY. 



" Pope will always be true to me ; I shall surely find 
him," Monita replied, with proud confidence, brushing 
by Pepindorio and hastening toward the villa. As she 
walked, lier hand sought Pope's parting gift, the string 
of turquoise beads which she wore within her dress. 
They were the proof that all was well with her beloved. 
But as she fingered them they crumbled under her 
touch. A deadly chill ran through her veins as she 



FAITH IN WORKS. 283 

took them off and examined them in a strong light. 
It was true the turquoises had changed color and were 
disintegrating. Nothing more was needed to convince 
Monita that Pop^ was in deadly peril ; and her friends, 
seeing how unhappy she was, reluctantly arranged for 
her return. 

She saw Pepindorio once again. Whether it was that 
he had come to Malaga to embark for Africa, " the 
land of the Corahai," and their meeting was a chance 
one, or whether he had followed her with some hope 
that he might still persuade her to join the gypsies, or 
simply to bid her a dumb farewell with his eyes, Monita 
never knew ; but the last figure in Spain which she 
saw from the ship was that of Pepindorio stretched on 
the stone coping of the quay. 

" It was night 
Before the ship weighed anchor and gave sail. 



He too divined 
A steadfast form that held hiin with its thought, 
And eyes that sought hun vanishing. He saw 
The waters widen slowly, till at last, 
Straining, he gazed, and knew not if he gazed 
On aujrht but blackness overhung with stars." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE WHIRLWIND. 

The time is come! Exurge, Domine ! 
Judica causain luainl Let thy foes 
Be driven as the smoke before the wind, 
And melt Uke wax upon the furnace lip ! 

George Eliot. 

When Fray Ignacio left his charge at San Juan and 
rode away over the long stretches of level prairie to- 
ward his new Mission, his thoughts were not altogether 
regretful. He had prophesied the coming of the tem- 
pest which he knew would soon engulf the Spanish 
colony. It had sown the wind, and must reap the 
whirlwind ; and he felt like Lot fleeing from Sodom. 
Perchance, though he knew not why this grace should 
be vouchsafed, God would permit this rocky mountain 
of Acoma to be a Zoar of refuge to him in which he 
might escape the general destruction. It was so re- 
mote from the other pueblos away in the far South- 
west that perhaps the inhumanity of the Spaniards 
had not penetrated here. 

A Dominican monk had appeared in Santa Fe, 
preaching the Inquisition ; and the first glimpse which 
Frav Ignacio had causj-ht of the man had set his teeth 
on edge. The Franciscans were for the most part 
kindly, charitable men, opposed to the fanatic, frantic 
Dominicans; and Fray Ignacio in his Toledan cloister 



THE WHIRLWIND. 



285 



had been not only an earnest student of the condemned 
Moorish books, but had loved to talk with men of 
other opinions, and was known of them as — 

" The polished priest, a tolerant listener, 
Disposed to give a hearing to the lost, 
And breakfast with them ere they went below." 



Nay, in his heart of 
hearts he was not sure 
that any one was really 
lost who earnestly 
sought the Father in 
a different way from 
that which he had 
learned. 

An Indian guide led 
the way, and Fray Ig- 
nacio followed, with the 
Host suspended from 
his neck ; Peloncillo re- 
luctantly pacing along 
as she realized that 
the journey was length- 
ening itself to an un- 
wonted distance from 
the San Juan granaries. 
On the third day of 
their march they saw 
before them, rising ab- 
ruptly from the plain, a strangely shaped mountain, like 
the sarcophagus of some huge giant. 

" Is that the cliff of Acoma ? " asked Fray Ignacio. 




A DOMINICAN MONK. 



286 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

" No, my father ; you Spaniards call it the Mesa 
Encantada, or the Enchanted Table. Its sides are cut 
so straio:ht and sheer that none even of our most 
expert climbers have ever scaled it." 

As Fray Ignacio approached, he was more and more 
impressed by the majesty of this great natural tumulus. 
The walls, of from two to three hundred feet in height, 
were of such solid masonry that the wear of time had 
collected very little debris about its foot, and the mass 
rose almost perpendicularly, as though it had been 
squared by the plummet or cleanly sliced by the knife 
of the gods. 

'' What a tomb it would make ! " Fray Ignacio ex- 
claimed. " Surely Moses, for whom God prepared a 
place, had no grander. Would that it might be my 
last resting-place and monument ! " 

The Indian did not smile, but his reply had in it a 
suspicion of sarcasm : " We will gladly afford the holy 
father a burial-place there ; but perhaps he had better 
climb up to it now while he is living, for his body is 
heavy, and we might find trouble in carrying it up 
so high." 

Fray Ignacio took his words as though they were in- 
tended seriously. '' The body of Saint Catharine was 
carried to her mountain sepulchre by angels ; and per- 
chance, if the glory of martyrdom is permitted, this 
grace will also be mine." 

The earnest words made a deep impression upon the 
credulous Indian, and on arrivinsc at Acoma he circu- 
lated the story that Fray Ignacio had said that when 
he died, spirits would prepare his grave upon the Mesa 
Encantada, and bear him away to it upon their wings. 



THE WHIRLWIND. 



287 



Some scoffed, while others, Qurious to see any new won- 
der, were for slaying Fray Ignacio at once, in order to 
behold the miracle ; but these were at this time happily 
in the minority. 

The Rock of Acoma had come into view after pass- 
ing the Mesa Encantada. It resembled the Enchanted 
Table in its general features, but was of vaster extent, 
affording room on its summit for a town of five thou- 
sand inhabitants, while its walls, though frightfully 
precipitous, were broken by chasms and irregular re- 
cesses, and were accessible by two winding pathways, 
— the one a secret natural staircase hidden in a sort 
of cave, whose existence was known only to the chief 
men of the tribe, and was in- 
tended to be used as a means 
of escape in case of siege ; the 
other a rocky footpath, steep 
and winding, and easily de- 
fended at several points by a 
handful of men against an 
army. 

Up to this natural citadel, 
this impregnable Gibraltar of 
the prairie, Fray Ignacio 
mounted dauntlessly. Half- 
naked boys came leaping down 
the cliff to meet him, and led Peloncillo by the halter, 
while older faces, stolid, but kindly, were lifted above 
the rocky lookouts and peered at him as he approached. 
It was not the first time that a Spaniard had visited 
Acoma. The place had been discovered nearly a hun- 
dred years before by Augustin Ruyz, a Franciscan, and 




STOLID, BUT KINDLY. 



288 



GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 



Antonio tie Espejo, who have told how hospital)ly they 
were entertained ; ^ and since that period a church had 
been built by Fray Juan Ramirez, over which at this 
time Lucas Maldonado was priest. 

Fray Ignacio heard a humming sound as he ap- 
proached the priest's house ; and as 
a chubby child held back the cur- 
tain for him to enter, he saw that 
the cloister garden was filled with 
merry cliildren dancing, and that 
Fray Lucas, seated in one of the 
archways, was strumming merrily 
upon a guitar. The surprised priest 
sprang to his feet, but came for- 
ward courteously to greet his con- 
frere ; and on reading the credentials 
which Fray Ignacio brought, wel- 
comed him joyfully. 

" I have been very lonely here 
among the heathen," he said, " and 
I am heartily glad of your coming. Heaven grant you 
have brought your bass-viol ! We shall have precious 
seasons together." 

Fray Lucas took his brother ecclesiastic into the 
shady cloister, and set before him a table spread with 
fruits, melons, and peaches, which the Indians had 
grown in their farms at the foot of the rock, hard 
bread baked by their women, salt from a salt lake, and 
coffee made by his own hands. After his guest was 
refreshed and rested. Fray Lucas led him out and 
showed him the pueblo. 




A CHUUBY CHILD. 



1 Sec Appendix. 



THE WHIRLWIND. 



289 



There was a plaza in the centre, fronting which were 
the terrace-shaped houses, whose walls extended for 
some eight hundred feet along the edge of the cliff. 
Along the roofs naked children scampered, tumbling 
up and down the long ladders. Gayly striped blankets 




THE TEKR ACE-SHAPED HOUSES. 



were spread as mats or hung over the rude battlements. 
Strings of scarlet peppers, or chilli, were festooned on 
the light walls, giving a dash of barbaric color here and 
there ; while girls with shawls draped about their 
heads and shoulders in Eastern fashion came and went 
with olhas — or water-pots, holding several gallons, 
decorated with bizarre figures — poised statuesquely 
upon their heads. A captive eagle, the only unhappy 



290 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

looking crecature in the pueblo, drooped among the chim- 
ney-pots, melons were ripening in the sunshine, and in 
the dark interiors the padre caught glimpses of gypsy- 
like crones grinding corn and preparing bread for baking 
in the conical-shaped mud ovens. Fray Lucas took his 
friend to the great cisterns, in which thousands of gallons 
of rain-water were stored, and to the corral, in which 
the donkeys, pastured and worked during the day on 
the farms below, were confined at night. He showed 
Fray Ignacio the campo santo, or burial-groimd, in front 
of the church, and explained that earth to a depth suffi- 
cient for burial, as well as the soil in the convent gar- 
den, had been patiently brought from the plain below in 
baskets by the Indians and piled upon the naked rock. 

Fray Ignacio looked out from the priest's balcony at 
the pueblo with its teeming life spread before him, and 
exclaimed, "Surely here, apart froui the world, I may 
find my vocation ! " 

Maldonado shrugged his shoulders. " You forget that 
you are just as much in the world as if you were in 
Madrid. 'Wherever the Lord sends his missionaries, the 
Devil sends his also. That house yonder is a trading- 
post of a pedler who comes at intervals from Santa Fe, 
bringing strong liquors and gunpowder, with Spanish 
knives with good Toledan blades, and playing-cards and 
trinkets for the wonien, which he barters for more 
precious commodities. For a season after each of his 
visits one would think that the Devil had entered into 
this people." 

" Can we not prohibit his coming ? " 

" Nay, for he is a creature of Captain Zufiiga, and 
has his permission to trade and get gain." 



THE WHIRLWIND. 291 

So Captain Zimiga had a hold even upon this spot 
which Fray Ignacio had thought virgin soil ; but he set 
to work with a will, determined to give the Evil One 
a brave fight. Fray Lucas was a great refreshment to 
him He was a merry-hearted man, who in Madrid 
might have been a favorite confessor of ladies. 

"Sworn fast and' tonsured pate, plain Heaven's celibate, 
And yet earth's clear accepted servitor, 
A courtly spiritual Cupid, 
And fit companion for the like of you, 
Your gay Abati with the well-turned leg, 
And rose i' the hat-rim, Canons, cross at neck. 
And silk mask in the pocket of the gown." 

But now, instead of lolling on velvet cushions, per- 
fumed and pampered, sipping chocolate from exquisite 
china, and discoursing learnedly of sonnets or intaglios, 
he took long rambles with the children in search of 
wild plums or bird's eggs, and played them tunes and 
told them legends, leading a simple, natural life, re- 
moved alike from worldliness and asceticism. He was 
a prime favorite with the children ; but the older peo- 
ple regarded him as a trifler, and paid him no respect 
whatever. Fray Ignacio, on the contrary, spoke as one 
having authority, and tliey listened to him curiously, 
— not without much argument about him among them- 
selves, but still they listened. 

For several years Fray Ignacio labored among them, 
gaining ground slowly, as he thought, among the older 
people, more evidently and surely among the children, 
who were growing up into well-conditioned youths; 
when one day he noticed more than usual excitement 
in the town. The medicine-man beat his tomtom 



292 GKEAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

steacli]}^, and tlie men of the tribe passed one by one 
into the estufa for a counciL 

Inijuiring of one of the women, the Fray learned that 
a messenger had arrived from the sacred pueblo of 
Pecos, bearinur a knotted cord, which was known to be 
a message from the representative of Montezuma. 

" I saw the messenger," said Fray Lucas, "' and I 
did not take to him ; he was a particularly sour-faced 
fellow." 

The council was a long one, and when it was over, 
the men went silently to their homes with grave faces. 
The messenger came out last; and Fray Ignacio, who 
chanced to stand opposite the door of the estufa, met 
him face to face. It was Pope ; but so changed that 
had not the young man hrst recognized the priest, the 
latter would not have known this emaciated and wicked- 
looking man for his former altar-boy. Pope had made 
one impulsive bound toward the padre, and would have 
knelt before him as the priest raised his hand in bless- 
ing ; but some evil spirit seemed to possess him, and 
crying, "What have you done with Monita?" he shook 
his clenched fist in the priest's face. 

"• My son, Monita is in the care of Our Blessed Lady. 
I trust she will return to us soon," Fray Ignacio replied 
calmly. 

" Soon, soon I " Pope replied bitterly. " Go and 
fetch her ; and if 3'ou cannot find her, come not back, 
and say not hereafter that Pope gave you no warn- 
ing." With which mysterious and not very reassuring 
words he mounted his luirro and left the town. 

After this his parishioners acted strangely. None of 
the men came to church, they avoided him when they 



THE WHIRLWIND. 295 

met, and they went no more to the fields for labor, but 
idled about the plaza or busied themselves with sharp- 
ening arrow-heads and preparing other weapons. Fray 
Lucas said that they behaved as though the trader had 
made a recent visit, and had brought more fire-water 
tlian usual; and yet the man had not been seen for 
months. 

About a month after Pope's coming, Fray Lucas an- 
nounced the arrival of visitors. How was Fray Ignacio 
startled to find that the cacique's guests were a half- 
dozen Spanish soldiers, chief among whom was Captain 
Zuiliga ! 

"Why do you come to this peaceful pueblo?" he 

asked. 

" I wnll tell you," the Captain replied. " There is an 
uneasy feeling abroad. You are not safe here ; and it is 
the Governor's order that there shall be a presidio wher- 
ever there is a Mission, to protect the holy fathers and 
enforce their authority." 

"I do not need or desire your protection," Fray 
Ignacio replied boldly, " I am safer without it ; and I 
demand that you instantly quit this pueblo, nor suffer 
men of unrestrained and cruel passions to ravage 
among my innocent flock." 

Zuiliga laughed scornfully. " Your words are high, 
sir priest, but know that we shall stay without your 
permission. The importance of this post as a strate- 
gical point is recognized by our governor. It can be 
. easily fortified and held by a small garrison, therefore 
it is ordered that the entire rock be turned into a Span- 
ish fort without delay. A part of the men will be told 
off to labor in my silver mine, the others will be set to 



296 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

work upon the presidio ; and this you will explain to 
tlie cacique, enforcing it with your authority, or I shall 
put you under arrest as a traitor to the King." 

'•' 1 have no authority with which to enforce such 
orders. This people will never obey them." 

" Then I shall wait till the arrival of more soldiers 
and a train of ammunition ; and when these have come, 
I shall summon the Indians into the church by the 
ringing of the great bell, cause the doors to be fastened, 
and commanding them with our guns from the organ- 
loft, we can massacre them all if they refuse to allow 
themselves to be bound and led away." 

''' I will be a party to no such transaction," Fray 
Ignacio replied wratlifully. " Moreover, you are too 
late. Do you hear that sound ? The warriors of the 
tribe are dancing a w\ar-dance in the estufa, and persons 
are running hither and thither across the plaza. Some- 
thing has excited their suspicions ; you have not an 
instant to lose. Abandon your unrighteous designs, 
and hee at once I " 

As he spoke, the curtain door was thrown back, and 
the daughter of the cacique entered. Catching Fray 
Ignacio's arm, she whispered : '' My father, it is just 
one moon since the coming of the messenger with the 
knotted cord. A great uprising has been planned, in 
which all the pueblos will take part at sunrise to- 
morrow. These men have come in an evil time. Leave 
them to their fate, and follow me ; I will lead you to 
the stairway of escape." 

" Nay, child, why should 1 flee ? But guide these 
strangers instead, and 1 will go to the church, where 
nothing can befall me but what is sent by God." 



THE WHIRLWIND. 297 

Captain Zimiga and tlie other soldiers, alarmed by 
this conversation, which they partly luiderstood, fled 
down the rocky staircase shown them by the girl, and, 
mounting their horses, which had been left hobbled at 
the foot of the citadel, made good their escape from the 
town, convinced that this was not the time to carry out 
their design of founding a presidio at Acoma. 

It was as the girl had told Fray Ignacio, — the long- 
fomented discontent was ripe for open rebellion. Pope, 
with the sanction of the grand priest at Pecos, had car- 
ried a knotted cord from pueblo to pueblo ; each town 
untying a knot in significance that it joined the league, 
and on the preconcerted day would slay every Span- 
iard found within its walls. Pope had chosen to be 
himself the bearer of the cord in every instance except 
to the pueblo of San Juan. Possibly he had chosen 
to do so because he felt that " a prophet is not without 
honor but in his own country ; " and Pope was a 
leader, a great man, now, the coming deliverer to the 
other pueblos. Perhaps (and who shall say that such 
delicacy and intensity of feeling does not exist in 
an Indian's breast ?) he avoided San Juan because 
of the memories of his boyhood, of Fray Ignacio and 
Monita. 

Thus it happened that when Monita returned to her 
native pueblo she met a strange Indian, stripped for 
running, panting and exhausted, who bore above his 
head a knotted cord and plunged into the estufa. If 
it had been Pope, who knows but a bloody page might 
have been spared from the history of these times ? 

How Monita's heart bounded as she recognized famil- 
iar scenes! — the light-brown walls of the pueblo, with 



298 



GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 



windows of plates of syenite let into the mud-walls, un- 
familiar children climbing the ladders, while some of 
her old playmates, grown into young men, were stand- 
ing beside rude ploughs and carritas, or carts. Some- 







THERE SAT HER MOTHER. 



thing listless in their attitude struck her. They were 
not harnessuig mules or bustling to their work, but stood 
stolidly like men out of employ, waiting for something 
to happen. Monita did not linger to question them, but 
hurried on to her own home. There on the threshold, 



THE WHIRLWIND. 299 

in an attitude of great dejection, sat her mother. 
Monita recognized her afar off, though her once black 
hair had turned snowy white. She touched lier upon 
the shoulder, and the woman sprang up with a great 
cry of joy. How she fondled her child and wept over 
her, and held her at arm's length to admire her beauty, 
and babbled of her childhood and of the dress she wore 
at their parting, set down the side with silver coins, 
her father's work, — and had she saved them ? 

Then first Monita had an opportunity to ask for her 
father, and learned of his cruel murder. '• But he will 
be revenged ! " the mother cried. " Simon Magus came 
to San Juan a few days ago, and he says that Pope 
has become a great chief, and is gathering all the young 
braves together to attack Santa Fe and drive the Span- 
iards from the country. Moreover, there is some news 
from Pope just received, for a messenger has gone into 
the estufa." 

Monita had been listening intently. "I must see 
Pope," she said; "but first I must attend this council 
and know what is going on." 

"You are not a man," her mother replied in sur- 
prise. 

" True ; but my father left no son to take his place, 
and I have a right to his voice in all that pertains to 
the tribe and our family." 

Hurrying to the estufa, the girl boldly demanded 
entrance. Simon Magus appeared at the door, and 
recognizing her as the representative of her father, and 
as his own son's betrothed, quickly admitted her. She 
sat down in the outer row and listened to the council. 
The cacique had explained to them the message. They 



300 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

were called upon on the 10th of August — being the 
festival of San Lorenzo of the Roman calendar, and the 
new moon- — to kill the priest and whatever other 
Spaniards might be found in the village, to march out 
of the town en masse, and to join the general army 
of the allied pueblos in besieging Santa Fe. The 
cacique explained that this cord had been sent to the 
other pueblos, and that each of them had untied a 
knot in token of joining the league and promising 
to massacre all Spaniards in their walls at the pre- 
concerted time. One by one the chief men of the 
tribe spoke in favor of the plot. Simon Magus in his 
character of sorcerer carrying most weight by promis- 
ing a happy event to the affair. He told them also 
of his visit to Mexico, of the cruelty of the Spanish 
religion there, of the sufferings of his son in the mines, 
and touched lastly on the great injustice which Captain 
Zuiiiga had practised to the silversmiths in taking their 
mine from them. He ended by telling of the murder 
of Koba. 

At this point Monita rose to her feet, and Simon 
Magus, pointing to her, continued : " Here is his daugh- 
ter, who will speak for him. She is also the promised 
wife of Pope. I charge you listen to her." 

Monita began in a quiet monotone. She rehearsed 
first the circumstances which gave her a right to speak ; 
and then, to the surprise of every one present, made an 
impassioned appeal to the tribesmen not to join in the 
conspiracy. '^ The San Juan share of those silver mines 
which the Spaniards have taken does not belong to you, 
but to me. Good ! I do not ask 3'ou to win them back. 
You have no right to fight for them unless I ask you 



THE WHIRLWIND. 301 

to do so. By our laws the life of one Spaniard belongs 
to me in the stead of my father's life. I claim the life 
of the stranger priest at this Mission of San Juan ; no 
one can touch him but by my orders. It has been said 
that I have had opportunity to know in Spain that the 
Spaniards' religion is a lie. I will not deny this. Let 
us prove our own religion more merciful. If the priests 
have taught us false things, we know that they have 
themselves been true. I call upon you to remember 
Fray Ignacio, and I ask which of you will vote for his. 
death ? In my father's stead I have a vote, and I vote 
against the untying of this knot." 

There was more debate, the discussion was long and 
heated ; but a majority of the voters were won over to 
Monita's side, and the messenger was sent away with 
the word that San Juan refused to join the conspiracy. 
It was the only pueblo which stood aloof in the great 
uprising, and by so doing it gained for itself a new title 
from the Spanish chroniclers, — San Juan de los Cabal- 
leros, " St. Jolm of the Gentlemen," a name of which it 
is proud to-day. 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE MESA ENCANTADA. 

" Where is Pope ? " Monita asked, after the council 
had ended. 

" He has gone to Acoma and the Western pueblos ; 
but he will take command of the siege of Santa Fc in 
a few days." 

" I must find Pope at once," Monita said to the 
cacique, who therefore furnished her with a fleet little 
burro and provisions for her journey. 

" Fray Ignacio is at Acoma," the Indians told her ; 
and they sketched her route upon the ground, explain- 
ing the different landmarks which rendered the way so 
sure to the Indian. Monita rode first straight to Santa 
Fe, where she informed Governor Otermin of the plot, 
and then took her solitary way across the prairie to- 
ward the west. She camped, as Fray Ignacio had 
done, at night on the open prairie, sleeping on the 
short brown grass, thankful if there was a water-hole 
in an arroya near by. So lonely was it underneath the 
stars that she was glad to hear the yelp of the coyote 
as he lurked in the distance, attracted and yet fright- 
ened by the light of her camp-fire. Was there some- 
thing in his gray coat which reminded her, as it did 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. 303 

Bret Harte, of the Franciscans/ and so gave her a 
kindly feeUng to him ; or was it only because she felt 
that he was a vagabond child of the prairie like herself, 
and not more hunted or friendless ? 

Between the pueblos of Laguna and Acoraa lie great 
lava beds which the Indians think were formed by the 
hardened blood of a great monster slain long ago by 
Montezuma. Here Pope had appointed a rendezvous 
for the warriors of the western pueblos, and here had 
been carried many cords of wood for the great bonfire 
around which the war-dance was to be celebrated. 

On the third evening of her journey Monita saw the 
pillar of smoke rising in the distance, and later the 
lurid light of the pyre shining far away over the brown 
prairie sea. She rode straight toward it, and late at 
night could make out the dark figures outlined against 
the flames, dancing and leaping like so many demons. 
Other Indians from the pueblos had collected, and 
watched from a distance the demoniac rites. Right 



1 THE COYOTE. 

BY BRET HARTE. 

Blown out of the prairie in twilight and dew, 
Half bold and half timid, yet lazy all through ; 
Loath ever to leave, and yet fearful to stay, 
He limps in the clearing, an outcast in gray. 

A shade on the stubble, a ghost by the wall, 
Now leaping, now limping, now risking a fall, 
Lop-eared and large-jointed, but ever alway 
A thoroughly vagabond outcast in gray. 

Well, take what you will, though it be on the sly i 
Marauding or begging, I shall not ask why, 
But will call it a dole, just to help on his way 
A four-footed friar in orders of gray ! 



o04 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

through these gazing groups Monita rode, until a wo- 
man came panting up to her and caught the bridle of 
her donkey. 

" You must not go any nearer ; it is no place for a 
young girl," she said. " The men are working them- 
selves up to frenzy by their dance, in order that they 
may kill without mercy. It is not safe to go near 
them." 

" I must see Pope," Monita replied resolutely. 

" Then I will speak to my husband yonder," said the 
woman ; " he is the Cacique of Goleta. I will ask him 
to send Pope to you." And darting forward, the wo- 
man laid her hand on the arm of one of the dancing 
figures. 

Possibly he did not recognize her, or drink and the 
dance had so inflamed him that he was no longer con- 
scious of what he did ; for, maddened by the interrup- 
tion, he struck her a heavy blow. The woman reeled 
and fell insensible just outside the circle of dancers. 
No one noticed her ; the musicians pounded their tom- 
toms more energetically, and the dancers leaped the 
higlier as they passed her. 

Monita hurried forward and tried to lift the woman 
to a seat on the donkey ; failing in this, she dragged 
her to such a distance from the dance that some of her 
friends among those looking on took courage, and, com- 
ing forward, carried her back. Seeing that she was 
already beginning to revive, and was not seriously hurt, 
Monita again mounted her donkey and rode dauntlessly 
close to the circle of dancing savages. She sat straight 
and silent, wondering which of those painted demons 
w\as Pope. 




"?y-. 









SHE DID NOT PAUSE FOR REST, BUT HURRIED TOWARD ACOMA. 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. 307 

The young man recognized her first. Snatching a 
blanket from the ground he threw it around him, to 
disguise in part the hideousness of his appearance, and 
dashing from the circle he wheeled the donkey around 
and led it to quite a distance before he spoke. Then 
he bent his head upon her shoulder and burst into 
tears. Monita soothed him as she would hav^e done 
a child, and waited until his passionate emotion had 
subsided. 

"' So you have come back safe ? " he cried. " I thought 
you were dead, or imprisoned as I was." 

'• No, Pope, I am here, never more to go away ; and 
Fray Ignacio shall marry us wlien you will." 

" Yes, Fray Ignacio. I promised him that he would 
be spared if you came back. Go to Acoma ; Fray Ig- 
nacio is there. Perhaps it is not too late to save him. 
Take this fetich, and the Indians will know that Pope 
has sent you, and that he forbids their killing the padre. 
Stay there, and when every other Spaniard is killed I 
will come for you." 

His face was dark and furious again ; but Monita put 
her arms about his neck. '' The Spaniards are cruel 
and wicked," she said, " but why must we be so ? Let 
us prove ourselves the nobler race." 

Pope made a violent gesture. " We cannot live to- 
gether any longer," he said. ''It is too late to quell 
this rebellion even if I desired to do so ; in a few hours 
every Spaniard in the puei)los will have been put to 
death, and Santa Fe is already besieged. Shall we sub- 
mit to the enemy now, and allow them to work tlieir 
revenge upon us ? There is no remedy but in complete 
independence." 



308 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

''But, Pope, why need they be killed?" Monita still 
besought. '' If they will consent to leave our country 
once and forever, will not that serve the same purpose ? 
It may be too late to save the missionaries and settlers 
scattered so widely in the different pueblos; but when 
Santa Fe is in your power, — that great town, with 
all its women and children, who are not all wicked, — 
promise me. Pope, that they shall be sent back to their 
own country unharmed." 

Pope was silent ; all his wrongs clamored within him 
for revenge. At length he spoke slowly and unwill- 
ingly : " 1 am not the only one. You see this great 
band of warriors, — they are but a small part of the 
army which is collecting. They have all suffered cruel- 
ties which they are burning to revenge. Do you im- 
agine that when their blood is i\]) I can hold them ? " 

"Yes," Monita replied, steadily; ''you have incited 
them to this, and you can hold their hands. See, even 
the dance cannot go on without you ; the warriors are 
standing about waiting for you to lead them. We will 
have nothing to do with these wicked white people who 
rob and murder us and make us their slaves, and who 
send their priests to teach us to be patient and submis- 
sive. We will have none of their false religion, and 
we will have none of their vices either. We will not 
steal or murder children because they have done so. I 
have come back to you, Pope, to labor with you for 
our people till Montezuma comes ; but unless you 
promise to show yourself merciful in victory, 1 will not 
stay." 

The struggle was a fierce one, but the better nature 
in the young man conquered. " For your sake," he said. 




WAK! 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. 311 

"I win do this thing. The Spaniards shall see that 
the Pueblos are not like the Apaches and the wolves of 
the plains. If they will surrender, and swear to leave 
\is forever, not an Indian shall lift his finger against 
them. Pope has said it ! " 

He returned to the great bonfire, but the dance was 
not resumed. The warriors seated themselves in a circle, 
and Monita, as she rode away, saw Pope's figure sil- 
houetted against the light. He stood tall and digni- 
fied, his right arm extended in eloquent action, as he 
harangued them earnestly ; and her eyes filled with 
happy tears, for she knew that Popi' would keep his 
word. 

Wearied as she was, Monita did not pause for rest, 
but hurried now toward Acoma. It was only sixteen 
miles away, but she must hasten, for the morrow was 
the terrible 10th of August, to be made sacred to many 
martyrs as noble as San Lorenzo ; and Fray Ignacio's 
name must not be enrolled among them. 

When Monita approached the Mesa Encantada a 
different feeling came over her from that which had 
oppressed Fray Ignacio. This was no tomb, but a 
tower of safety. She had never heard our magnifi- 
cent hymn, — 

" Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in thee," 

or the words of the Psalmist, "The high hills are a 
refuge for the wild goats, and the rocks for the 
conies ; " but she felt that God had provided that 
great rock, with its sheltering caves, for the coyotes 
and for her. 

Within half a mile of the Mesa, as it lay on her left. 



312 GREAT-GKAND^;OTHER'S GIRLS. 

she saw scouring across the plain, directly in her road to 
Acoma, a band of moimted horsemen. The first glance 
told her that they were not Indians, but Spaniards. 
She halted, and watched them for a few moments. 
They were bearing down upon her very rapidly; and 
presently she recognized in the foremost man her old 
enemy, Captain Zuniga. Instantly she headed her 
burro for the Mesa Encantada, and galloped swiftly to 
its foot. Turning, she saw that the men had reached 
the spot from which she had first observed them, and 
had slackened their speed to watch her. Would they 
pass on and leave her where she was ? No ; with a loud 
shout Captain Zuiiiga charged toward her, and the 
frightened girl, springing from her donkey, began to 
climb the cliff. It was steeper than the cave-dwellings 
where she had been injured ; but fear lent her wings, 
and she seemed almost to fly up the nearly perpen- 
dicular face of the rock. 

When he reached the foot of the cliff Captain Zufiiga 
paused, watching her in amazement, until she had ac- 
complished half the ascent. '' No one but Monita can 
climb like that," he said. " I thought that I had killed 
her once, but it seems that she bears a charmed life. 
Ha ! that shot has missed, 1 am driving her to the sum- 
mit; but no human being can ever descend, she will 
have to starve to death on the top. I could wish her 
no worse fate ; " and laughing an evil laugh, he turned 
about and rejoined his companions. 

The Captain and his troop now rode, not to Santa Fe, 
but toward the hacienda. " If what we ha-ve just heard 
is true," he said, — " and I see no reason to doubt it. — 
the Missions and scattering settlements will all be 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. 313 

attacked to-morrow. Santa Fe has its garrison, and is 
safe enough ; but the hacienda could easily be surprised 
and taken by assault." 

He reached the hacienda, and alarmed the small 
garrison. " Take plenty of provisions and ammuni- 
tion," he gave order, " and let us move into the mines. 
We can fortify the entrance with a stockade and by 
our two cannon, so that it cannot be taken; and we 
shall be perfectly safe there until this uprising is 
quelled." Little thought any of the confident band 
that it would take the Spanish army twelve years to 
do this. 

The morning of San Lorenzo dawned bright and 
peaceful ; but on that day twenty-two Franciscan friars 
were almost simultaneously martyred. More than one, 
as he bowed his meek head to the death-stroke, mur- 
mured, in imitation of his Lord, " Father, forgive them ; 
for they know not what they do." Poor frenzied barba- 
rians, they knew thus much, — that they were rejecting 
a religion which, whatever might be its merits, was 
offered them hand in hand with injustice and villany. 
Have Christianity and civilization been presented to 
them in any other way to this day ? 

The priest at San Juan, warned by his parishion- 
ers, and the scattered settlers, alarmed in time, fled 
to Santa Fe ; but the others missionaries were massa- 
cred ; and the hordes of gathering Indians settled down 
to the siege of the city of the Sacred Faith. A party 
headed by Simon Magus plundered the hacienda; but 
finding Captain Zuniga so well fortified in the mines, 
they hesitated to attack him. Simon Magus, prowl- 
ing in the canon through which he had rescued Pope, 



314 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

saw a spring gushing from the earth and running away 
in a stream at the bottom of the canon. He concluded 
at once that this must be the drainage of the mine, and 
that if sealed up, the shafts would speedily fill with 
water and drive out the Spaniards. His thought was 
instantly acted upon, the Indians waiting without for 
the appearance of their foes. They did not know that 
the water had collected first in the front part of the 
mine, and had driven the Spaniards, who were ignorant 
of the extent of their dansrer, into the interior. Gradu- 
ally, as the water increased, their escape from the 
mine by the front was cut off. 

Captain Zuiiiga, who first comprehended the situation, 
seized a pickaxe and commanded the men to dig out 
toward the canon ; but the water gained upon them, and 
they were presently lifted from their feet. Then came 
a desperate death-struggle, all unheard by the impatient 
foes without ; and finally there was no sound within 
the mine Init the lapping of water. For days the 
Indians waited, and at length resolved to storm the 
barricade. There was no resistance; and having effected 
an entrance, they descended the sloping shaft until a 
broad sheet of water told them the story of the in- 
terior of the mine. In recent times this mine has 
been drained, and the human bones found in the inner 
chambers have excited much curiosity, few knowing the 
story of ambition, cruelty, and crime, and the horrible 
death which these brought in their train. 

And what of Fray Ignacio ? The morning of San 
Lorenzo found him at the altar-steps, where he had 
passed the niglit in prayer. He heard a commotion 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. 3 IT 

without, and the shriek of Fray Lucas ; then the great 
door of the church was thrown open, and a gust of wind 
blew out the altar-candles. He rose and faced the 
tumultuous crowd which surged in, lifting his hand 
with a gentle " Pax vobiscum." They seized him 
rudely, and dragged him out upon the campo santo 
to the parapet where the cliff descended most steeply 
to the plain. Away to the north rose the Mesa En- 
cantada, and Fray Ignacio saluted it, making the sign 
of the cross in the air. 

"He is summoning the spirits," said the Indian who 
had been the friar's guide to Acoma ; " let us see 
whether they will come to bear his body to the En- 
chanted Table." 

" Let us first give them a body to carry," another 
replied coarsely ; and two strong Indians lifted Fray 
Ignacio from his feet and hurled him over the cliff. 

Then appeared a prodigy. On the front of the Mesa 
Encantada, that inaccessible mount which none of 
their most atliletic young men had ever succeeded in 
scaling, outlined clearly against the rock appeared a 
form which to them seemed that of an angel, for 
surely nothing human could have found foothold there. 
It waved its arms as though signalling Fray Ignacio ; 
and looking over their own cliff, they saw with aston- 
ishment that the friar had not been killed, his fall 
being broken by his robe spreading, and forming a 
parachute. He rose unsteadily to his feet, lifted his 
hands in a dazed manner to his head, and then sank 
upon his knees, expecting that death would come to 
him in that attitude either through a swift arrow or 
from missiles hurled from the rock. 



318 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

But the mood of tlie Indians had changed. They 
had not had as much intercourse with the Spaniards 
at this lonely citadel of Aconia as the Rio Grande 
Pueblos, and consequently had no rankling wrongs to 
revenge. The}' had killed one friar, and tried to kill 
another. Surely they had ful tilled their bond with the 
other comnuinities, and could alford to refrain from 
further massacre. The word ran from mouth to mouth 
that a miracle had been performed, that the spirits had 
sustained Fray Ignacio in his perilous fall, and that 
doubtless some great calamity would befall their pueblo 
if any further attempt were made to injure him. Indi- 
ans hurried to the foot of the cliff to help him up the 
" rocky staircase ; " while others, more curious and less 
humane, scoured away across the plain to have a nearer 
view of the spirit on the Mesa Encantada. 

Monita in her flight from Captain Zuniga, almost 
crazed with fear, had climbed the cliff which until this 
time had been regarded as inaccessible. Her terror 
seemed to give her superhuman powers ; but in the 
supreme effort with which she drew herself over the 
last crag and achieved the summit, something seemed 
to give way : her heart fluttered wildly, stood still, 
then beat on, but more faintly. She knew what this 
meant, — she could not descend ; and as she crept to 
to the brink and looked down, a deadly sickness came 
over her at the sight of the awful precipice, and she 
felt that even without this crowning misfortune she 
could not have accomplished the descent. She had 
fallen once from such a height, and she could not have 
wished the catastrophe again. 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. 319 

Now what remained ? Only death from starvation, 
nnless the terrible shafts of the August sun should send 
delirium and sunstroke first. Would it be very long 
in coming, she wondered ? She knew what it was to 
suffer from thirst, — it was such a terribly slow as well 
as painful death. If release would only come in some 
other way ! The top of the Mesa was a level surface 
of bare rock, — no pool or shrub or tuft of grass. Even 
the eagles' nests were below her, on its sides and among 
the cliffs. 

Monita lay on the cliff and thought of her unhappy 
people and the Spaniards, but chiefly of Pope and the 
Geronima Montezuma, — the Indian blindly struggling 
for the independence of his people against the Spaniard, 
the Spanish girl as blindly groping for a way to help 
the Indian. "If I had lived," she thought, "I might 
have brought them together ; and now they must re- 
main enemies. Perhaps, after all, the task w^as too 
great foi- me ; there are too many Indians like Pope, 
too few Spaniards like Geronima." She thought of 
Fray Ignacio and the religion which he had brought to 
the Indians, of Christ and Montezuma ; and she lifted 
her heart to the Great Spirit whom Spaniard and In- 
dian alike adored, praying him to send Montezuma 
again to the Indians, and Christ once more to the Span- 
iards who so poorly followed his example, — a Saviour 
to save men from sinning, it mattered not by what name 
they called him. The old prayers and hymns which 
Fray Ignacio had taught her floated confusedly through 
her brain, — " Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona 
nobis pacem." 

She looked away toward Acoraa. There, just in front 



320 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

of the church, she saw a confused crowd, which seemed 
to surge from side to side and beckon. She answered 
it with rapid signals ; and then over the cliff, as though 
leaping to help her, she saw a black object shoot to the 
foot of the rock. Her quick instinct told her that this 
was Fray Ignacio ; and in her horror she sprang wildly 




into the air and fell heavily on the hard crag. Though 
her bound had been a high one, it seemed to her in 
that terrible instant that her heart leaped higher still, 
and — that it did not come back ! The blood gushed 
from her lips ; the heavens were red, then black. 
Miserere mei, Domine ! 

God had pity, and deatli had come through a broken 
blood vessel more quickly and more kindly than she 
had thought. 

The runners from Acoma revached the foot of the cliff 
to find only Monita's donkey browsing the buffalo grass 
quietly. They shaded their eyes and strained their gaze, 
but could make out nothing on the summit, though two 
eagles were sailing in an agitated way above it. One 
among the Indians thought he saw the flutter of drapery 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. 321 

from over the side of the crag, and the group hurried 
back to Acoma and collected every ladder to be found 
in the pueblo. These were lashed tightly together with 
lariats of hide, and hoisted into position ; but they only 
reached two-thirds of the way up the cliff, and no one 
dared to mount. Reluctantly they gave up the attempt, 
leaving the dead girl alone upon the mountain. 

Pope kept his promise. The siege of Santa Fe lasted 
for nine days. The Indians seized the mount, since 
called Fort Marcy, and having fortified this strategic 
point, gained at the outset a considerable advantage. 
The siege was at first resisted with vigor, the Gov- 
ernor playing upon them vigorously with the great 
cannon, until his ammunition began to fail, when a 
council of war was held to consider the advisability 
of a sally. 

Pope arrived at Santa Fe with his reinforcements 
just as Governor Otermin, who had made his sally 
from the town that morning and had fought val- 
iantly all day, was gaining the advantage. The West- 
ern Indians quickly drove the Spanish troops within 
the walls. 

The next morning Pope sent in a messenger with 
two crosses, — ^one red, and one white: the red one 
signified that continued resistance would end in ex- 
termination ; the white one, that, on capitulation, the 
Spaniards would be guaranteed safety in leaving the 
country. 

On the 21st of August the Spaniards evacuated the 
town. The Indians did not offer to molest them, 
but watched the long lines of soldiery and the mule- 



322 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

trains bearing the women and children and such pro- 
visions and household effects as could be gathered, file 
away to the southward. It was a remarkable instance 
of self-restraint on the part of the Indians and of Pope's 
power over them, and one that would have done credit 
to any civilized army and to any leader of modern 
times. 

Not until the Spaniards were out of sight did Pop6 
allovV- the victors to enter the town and dance their old 
pagan sun-dance on the plaza, having first burned the 
churches, — emblems of a religion which they rejected 
with scorn. Though the light of Christianity was 
entirely quenched in all the other pueblos, it burned 
steadily on in the remote pueblo of Acoma — at least 
so runs the legend — through the dark interregnum of 
heathenism which followed this uprising. 

Pope visited Acoma in his fruitless search for Monita, 
and confirmed the Indians in their respect and tender 
care for Fray Ignacio ; but he could not be prevailed 
upon to enter the church. In spite of his success, his 
spirit was broken. He held only for a short time the 
power which he had wrested from the Spaniards, and 
the country was reconquered by the ferocious General 
Vargas in 1692. 

Though Pope had striven most earnestly, he could 
find no trace or tidings of Monita to carry back to 
the gentle Countess of Montezuma, whose husband be- 
came Viceroy of Mexico, and who was received by the 
Southern Indians with wild enthusiasm as their heredi- 
tary princess. The little lady mourned sincerely for 
her friend. 

The Viceroy little suspecting that Fray Ignacio still 



THE MESA ENCANTADA. oz3 

lived on the lonely rock of Acoma, turned his attention 
particularly to the Californian Indians, who, he thought, 
would be more kindly disposed toward the Spanish re- 
ligion, since they knew less of Spanish cruelty. To 
California he sent that most remarkable man, Father 
Salvatiera, — of whose wonderful labors and successes 
Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson has told us with such elo- 
quence, — while the Pueblos of New Mexico waited and 
still wait for the Gospel. 

The Mesa Encantada still stands on the wind-blown 
prairie, — a monument, not to Monita alone, but to a 
wronged and patient people, who have received nothing 
but violence, treachery, and fraud from the white race 
(except from the handful of missionaries whom they 
slew in their blind struggle for independence). 

But who shall say that the missionary zeal of those 
early martyrs, the Franciscan friars, was wasted ? Some 
haunting memory of their teaching remains, and makes 
the re-conquest of the country for Christ an easier thing 
than it would otherwise be ; and still the Pueblo In- 
dians stretch out their hands, asking for justice as well 
as reliijion. 



*o" 



" ' Drink but this cup,' said the padre, ' straight, 
And thou slialt know wliose mercy bore 
These acliing limbs to your heathen door, 
And purged my soul of its gross estate. 
Drink in His name, and thou shalt see 
The hidden depths of this mystery. 
Drink ! ' and he held the cup. One blow 
From the heathen dashed to the ground below 
The sacred cup that the padre bore ; 
And the thirsty soil drank the precious store 
Of sacramental and holy wine, — 
That emblem and consecrated sign 
And blessed symbol of blood divine. 



024 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

" Then, says the legend (and they who doubt 
The same as hei-etics be accurst), 
From the dry and feverish soil leaped out 
A living fountain, — a well-spring burst 
Over the dusty and broad champaign, 
Over the sandy and sterile plain, 
Till the granite ribs and the milk-white stones 
That lay in the valley, the scattered bones, 
Moved in the river and lived again 1 " 



APPENDIX. 



XIMENES AND LAS CASAS. 

Theough the mists of history looms up like a lighthouse 
the name of one Spaniard interested in the abolition of 
Indian slavery, — that of the great Cardinal Ximenes. 

Sir. Arthur Helps says, in his fascinating " History of the 
Spanish Conquest in America " (from which the slight sketch 
contained in this Appendix of one phase of his life and that 
of Las Casas is condensed), — 

" He was ' so clear in his great office.' Peculation, unjust heed 
of relationship, and mean doings of all kinds must have withered 
up in his presence. He was like a city on the margin of deep 
waters, such as Genoa, where no receding tide reveals anything 
that is mean, squalid, or unbecoming. ... If Ximenes had lived 
but a year or two longer, it is not improbable that a widely differ- 
ent fate would have attended the Indian and the negro race." 

So wise and thorough were the measures with which he 
began to suppress Indian slavery, while he discouraged the 
importation of negroes into the Spanish possessions. 

No race of men have at any time been wholly composed 
of brutes ; and it is but justice to the early Spaniards that we 
study for a moment the character of this magnificent man, 
together with the heroism and self-sacrifice for conscience' 
sake of another, the clerigo Las Casas. 



326 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

When Cuba was colonized by Velasquez, in 1511, he took 
with him as clerk and assistant a scholar named Las Casas. 
The latter writes that he thought of nothing at this time but 
of making money. He received a large allotment of Indians, 
and employed them in the mines and upon his plantation, 
though with his partner, Renteria, he endeavored to treat them 
kindly. He saw, however, that the other Spaniards made no 
attempt to be humane, but oppressed and ill-treated the poor 
Indians most shamefully. On one occasion a Spaniard, in mere 
wantonness of cruelty, threw an Indian child into the river, 
and as it rose to the surface several times before drowjiing, 
laughed at its agonies, saying, " See it boil up ! " A noted In- 
dian chief was burned alive. At the stake a priest begged to 
be allowed baptize him, that he might go to heaven. The 
dying man asked if there were any Spaniards in heaven, and 
being answered in the affirmative, replied that tlien he did not 
wish to go there. But what shocked Las Casas most was a 
massacre of the Indians which took place before his eyes. The 
Spaniards had been into the woods on an exploring expedition ; 
and the soldiers, as they marched up a dried watercourse, came 
across some whetstones, on which they proceeded to sharpen 
their swords. Shortly after this they reached an Indian village. 
The inhabitants brought the thirsty soldiers water, and then 
sat down, gazing at the strange horses in admiration and 
wonder. Suddenly a soldier, from no other motive, it would 
seem, than a desire to try his newly sharpened sword, began 
to hack and hew at an unoffending Indiau. Instantly the 
other soldiers caught the warlike fever, and in a few moments 
nearly the entire village were butchered. Las Casas ran 
from one point to another, striving to prevent the slaughter, 
and at length it ceased; but he never forgot the sickening 
sight. 

Some time after this, while reading the Bible, ho became 
convinced that not only such inhuman acts, but all oppression 
of the Indians, was wrong. His partner, too, had gradually 
come to the same conclusion ; and after talking the matter 



APPENDIX. 327 

over, they resolved that they would give up their Indian slaves, 
and sell all their possessions, and that Las Casas should take 
the proceeds to defray his expenses in going to Spain to lay the 
cause of the poor Indians before the Court. This was done, 
and Las Casas first saw Bishop Fonsecca, who was Minister of 
Indian Affairs, and told him of the barbarities practised by the 
Spaniards, adding that seven thousand children had perished in 
three months. The Bishop replied haughtily : " What is this 
to me ; what is it to the King '( " At which Las Casas cried 
passionately, — 

" Is it nothing to your lordship or to the King that all 
these souls should perish ? O great and eternal God I And 
to whom, then, is it of any concern ? " 

King Ferdinand had just died, leaving Cardinal Ximenes 
regent for his grandson, Charles V., who was then but fifteen 
years old ; and to the Cardinal, Las Casas determined to go. 

Ximenes had hitherto taken little interest in the Indians, 
but what Las Casas told him roused his indignation. He 
caused all the laws which Ferdinand had made relatina: to 
them to be read in his presence and that of Las Casas; and 
the latter told him where the laws were defective, and where 
they had been disobeyed. Ximenes pronounced the Indians 
freemen under tlie old laws, and called a Junta for the pur- 
pose of arranging new regulations concerning their treatment 
by the colonists. He ordered that those Indians who had 
been enslaved, should be set at liberty They were to be 
collected in settlements and governed, but with a view solely 
to their Christianization and civilization. He moreover ap- 
pointed a lawyer to carry these new laws to the judges in the 
West Indies, and sent a deputation of Jeronimite monks to 
attend to the rights of the Indians ; and lie bade Las Casas 
watch the execution of his plans. " Be watchful for all," were 
his parting words, — " Mirad por todos." 

The grand scheme of liberty which Ximenes had instituted 
was not likely to be received with favor by the Spanish colo- 
nists. The Jeronimites did little of what they were expected 



328 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

to do. The new laws were not enforced, and were afterward 
repealed. Las Casas returned to Spain to report this ill per- 
formance ; but the energetic hand which would have carried 
on the work so well begun lay motionless in death. Ximenes, 
murmuring, " In te, Domine, speravi," " In thee, Lord, have 
I trusted," had breathed his last. 

Las Casas did not give up his efforts in behalf of the 
Indians after the death of his patron. We hear of him in 
Spain taking part in a noted controversy with Dr. Sepulveda, 
who attempted to prove that slavery was right, — for the 
gravity of the sins of the Indians ; in order to spread the 
faith ; and to protect the natives against their being sacrificed 
to idols, and against cannibalism. 

Las Casas vanquished him at every point. He was always 
to be found exactly where he was needed, crossing the ocean 
twelve times, to be present at every emergency. He attended 
a great synod of prelates at the city of Mexico in the time of 
the first viceroy, and there succeeded in establishing certain 
points of astonishing liberality, considering the fact that the 
Inquisition was in force in Spain, and was soon after estab- 
lished in Mexico. These were : — 

That all unbelievers, of whatever sect or religion they might 
be, and whatever sins they might have committed, have never- 
theless a just lordship over their own possessions. 

Again, that the final and only reason why the Apostolic 
See had given supreme jurisdiction in the Indies to the kings 
of Castile and Leon was that the Gospel might be preached, 
and the Indians converted. 

And that it did not mean thereby to deprive the lords of the 
Indians of their estates, lordships, jurisdictions, or dignities. 

And lastly, that the kings of Castile and Leon were bound 
to provide the requisite expenses for the conversion of the 
Indians to the true faith. 

Las Casas' labors in behalf of the South American Indians 
also were unbounded. He exercised a great influence over 
Charles V., and died at last, in the midst of his labors, in the 



APPENDIX. 329 

ninety-third year of his age. But he had made his mark, and 
the Spanish monarchs who succeeded his time were all pro- 
tectors of the Indians. Philip IV., in tlie time in which our 
story is laid, " appointed an officer in every viceroyalty, whose 
business it was to journey through the country and annul 
slavery everywhere ; and he was commanded ' to restore the 
Indians to their natural liberty, notwithsta.iiding any title of 
possession that the master might be able to produce.' " 



INDIAN" SUBMISSIVENESS TO CHRISTIANITY. 

Concerning the docility of the Indians and their readiness to 
embrace the Christian religion, Cabe^a de Vaca, the first 
explorer who passed tlirough the country, in the year 1536, 

says : — 

" We found such readiness in them to be convei-ted that if we 
had had an interpreter, so that we could have made ourselves per- 
fectly understood, we should have left them all Christians. . . . 
"When the sun rose, they raised their clasped hands to heaven 
with a loud shout. ... It is a well-conditioned people, ready to 
follow any good thing well prepared for them." 

Sir Arthur Helps, in speaking of the results of the work 
of the Catholic missionaries, says : — 

" The Indians, if they have not been highly civilized, have at 
least been somewhat Christianized ; and all that is votive, festal, 
and devout has found a ready access to their minds." 

The simple and earnest prayer with which one of the friars 
closes his chronicle is one which, with our own interpreta- 
tion of the word " catholic," each soul warmed by the divine 
enthusiasm of love for his fellow-man can offer to-day : — 

" Almighty God vouchsafe his assistance in this business that 
'such numbers of soules redeemed by his blood may not utterly 



330 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GIRLS. 

perrish, of whose good capacitie, wherein they exceed those of 
Mexico and Peru (as we be given to understand by those that 
have dealt with them), we may boklly presume that they will 
easily embrace the Gospel, and abandon such idolatrie as now the 
most of them do live in, which Almighty God grant for his honour 
and glory, and for the increase of the holy Catholic faith." 



THE END. 



University Press : John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



